


Atlas

by withfeeling



Series: Graecus [1]
Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Angst, Canon Compliant, Confessions, Eating Disorders, Feelings, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Getting Together, Homophobia, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Injury, Introspection, Lee Donghyuck | Haechan-centric, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Pining, Self-Harm, Self-Hatred, Slow Burn, Suicidal Thoughts, Vomiting
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-06
Updated: 2020-08-07
Packaged: 2021-03-04 01:22:09
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 43,041
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24565309
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/withfeeling/pseuds/withfeeling
Summary: It’s moments like this, in the darkness of midnight, that Donghyuck finds it hard to rationalize why he’s being so cruel to himself. Why eating equates to self hatred. It wasn’t always like this.
Relationships: Lee Donghyuck | Haechan/Mark Lee
Series: Graecus [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1776679
Comments: 108
Kudos: 487





	1. Dry Drowning

**Author's Note:**

> It has been a while since I’ve posted and this is my first NCT fic, so please handle with care :)
> 
> Just a heads up, this story will focus heavily on potentially triggering themes, mainly disordered eating. DO NOT READ IF THIS COULD BE POTENTIALLY UPSETTING TO YOU. 
> 
> I tried to write a realistic portrayal of how someone can fall prey to an eating disorder and the resulting suffering. This is reflective of my personal experiences, but I apologize for any inaccuracies. 
> 
> Enjoy!

“Shit—Taeyong? How long have you been standing there?” Donghyuck jolts as Taeyong silently appears in the corner of his vision. 

“Longer than you’d like.” Taeyong replies. With a fond smile, he pries Donghyuck’s hand off of the fridge door and closes it. “It’s late. You should go back to bed.”

“I’m not done looking.” Donghyuck protests.

“If you haven’t found what you wanted by now, you’re not going to find it.” Taeyong grabs Donghyuck's wrist, gently pulling him along. “Plus, it’s not good to have the fridge open for so long, it wastes energy.”

Donghyuck feels his joints go to ice. Taeyong is right—what was he even hoping to find? Banana milk? Leftover rice? Self worth?

“Okay,  _ mom.” _ Donghyuck teases, needing to shake how transparent he feels. 

Donghyuck steps into his room, but Taeyong lingers in the doorway behind him, the backlight from the hall illuminating his bleach-fried hair like a thorny halo. Donghyuck stares at his feet, afraid that if he looks up Taeyong will see right through him.

“Chin up, Hyuck.” With dainty fingers and a glimpse of sadness, Taeyong forces Donghyuck’s face up. “There you go.”

“Get some rest. You’re being weird tonight.” Donghyuck quips, stifling a nervous laugh that bubbles up his throat. 

“Alright. I’ll see you in the morning.” Taeyong claps Donghyuck on the shoulder before retreating to his own room. 

Briefly, Donghyuck entertains the idea of slipping into Johnny’s bed. Lately, it seems that he’s always on the cusp of a comeback, both for 127 and Dream. The hectic weeks of rehearsals and interviews have left him feeling lonely and touch-starved. And it’s getting to him. 

He feels restless in his own skin, the constant demand to be better nudging him toward a void filled with tar and self-hatred. He’s under so much pressure, he wonders if it’s inevitable that he’ll crack. 

Donghyuck has no reason to feel so neglected. Everyone else seems to be doing just fine. 

He grabs a bottled water off of his nightstand and takes a long swig. He’ll feel better in the morning. 

—

Donghyuck wakes up on the right side of bed. It’s almost unsettling—to feel okay after so many hopeless mornings. Since when did mild despair become the new normal?

Donghyuck takes a shower and scrubs his skin until it’s red and raw. He meets with Mark and Yuta for brunch and they go to a cafe a few blocks away. It has an aggressively hipster vibe and a random-ass English name that sends Mark into peals of knee-slapping laughter. Donghyuck isn’t sure what’s so funny about  _ Seed _ , and Mark is too embarrassed to explain, so Donghyuck decides it must be an immature, inappropriate joke. He laughs, too.

The cafe certainly offers more than seeds on their menu, and Donghyuck orders a hot chocolate and a stack of pancakes. He tries not to feel bad when Yuta orders a chickpea frittata and Mark orders avocado toast. It’s harder when Yuta orders a celery juice, saying something about it being good for weight loss. If Yuta thinks he needs to lose weight, then what does Donghyuck need to do? Remove his ribs?

Donghyuck chokes on his hot chocolate, guilt and envy crawling from his lungs. Mark clobbers him on the back with gusto until he can breathe again. “I think I almost drowned.” He jokes with a grimace.

“Leave it to you to make brunch life-threatening.” Mark laughs and Yuta smiles. Donghyuck wants to punch their stupid teeth out. “Are you okay now? Be careful, dude.”

“No promises.” Donghyuck replies in a sing-song voice, trying to convince himself that Yuta being weight conscious  _ isn’t _ causing him to have an existential crisis.

“Dry drowning is not the vibe, man.” Mark giggles and leans closer. Donghyuck can count his eyelashes. 

_ Perfect.  _ Donghyuck thinks, feeling both bitter and reverent as his eyes follow the slope of Mark’s petite nose. 

Before he can do something stupid, like expose his jealousy, or—worse—kiss Mark, Donghyuck scurries over to the counter and picks up their meals, quickly bringing the plates back to the table and digging in. 

With more force than necessary, Donghyuck stabs into his pancake. 

“What’d that pancake do to you?” Yuta jokes.

“Yeah, dude, you act like it wronged you.” Mark chortles.

“Maybe it did.” Donghyuck harrumphs. He glares at his plate with renewed vigor. In a way, his pancakes  _ have _ wronged him, because they’re syrupy and delicious—a far cry from Yuta’s  _ grass juice _ . It incites both a feeling of competitiveness and shame within him: he should eat just as healthy as those around him, but he also shouldn’t need to be guilted into it.

He hates how inadequate it makes him feel. His literal _job_ is to look pretty. It’s the basic requirement of an idol, how can he fail to meet the minimum expected of him?

Lately, it has been harder to push down his sorrow, but he’s determined to enjoy the day. They don’t have a schedule until tomorrow and he refuses to forsake a perfectly good day just because he’s being an emotional little bitch. 

He doesn’t want to put a damper on their outing with his sour mood, so he forces confidence and humor, grinning in a way that pains him. The sun must always shine.

After brunch, they walk to a park on the Han River and play in the grass. Soon enough, the black cloud lingering over Donghyuck’s head dissolves into laughter and glee. He finds that he doesn’t have to force himself—he’s genuinely delighted. They remain in the park for hours, until all they know is the shimmering air around them. 

By the time they leave the park, the sun is setting. On their way back to the dorm, they slurp instant ramen from a convenience store. The sunset is beautiful, showering them in luminous kisses. Images of Mark’s golden skin and pretty smile linger in his mind for reasons he will not admit. 

Donghyuck wonders if this is what being high on life feels like. 

When it’s time for them to retire to their own rooms, Yuta ruffles his hair and leaves for his bed, looking half-asleep on his feet. 

Mark lingers after Yuta has left. Donghyuck jokingly presses a sloppy kiss to Mark’s cheek, just to be annoying, since he knows how much Mark hates it. 

Donghyuck hops away from Mark and braces himself to get neck-chopped or kicked. Instead, something tender and unfamiliar comes over Mark’s face. He rolls his eyes, and with a huff says, “Goodnight, Hyuck.” 

Donghyuck wonders why Mark is letting him get away with it, but he’s not about to  _ ask  _ to be hit. “Today was fun, we should do it again sometime. Sleep well.” He replies, before turning and heading to his own room.

He falls asleep with a smile on his lips and warmth in his heart.

—

It’s a realization that happens slowly, rather than in one moment of shock and despair. It’s pieces of knowledge that have always been there, but are only now making sense. It’s something that Donghyuck is terrified to confront.

He likes boys.

There are a lot of things about him that don’t fit. His humor is too mean, his voice is too loud, his skin is too tan. But they can all be accepted as quirks, funny—even endearing—things about him. 

This is not a quirk. 

There’s no one he can tell. He knows what his parents would think, he knows what society would think. What he fears is what Mark would think. He can’t think of anything worse than losing his best friend. You can’t just make new childhood friends after all.

He tries at first to make himself like girls, or at the very least, convince everyone around him that he does. He finds out what celebrities Johnny would “smash” and makes one of them his phone background. He flirts with the makeup noonas and pretends to enjoy it. 

Donghyuck is halfway through a video that he knows Jaehyun meant to delete from his search history when he breaks down. The girl’s exaggerated moans and feminine curves make him feel  _ nothing _ . If anything, it feels clinical, similar to the mild repulsion he’d feel dissecting a frog. 

Suddenly, all the homophobic comments that he has heard over his lifetime burn like fresh wounds. Even though they were never directed at him, they are still venomous reminders of how hated he would be.

The thought of ever voicing the truth makes bile rise in his throat. Even thinking of doing something so  _ reckless  _ feels like looking down from the steep edge of a precipice. He has never felt so afraid. 

Donghyuck decides that this is something no one can ever know about him. And as spring changes to summer, an icy loneliness settles in his bones. It seems fitting, that everyone around him is able to bask in the sun while Donghyuck is perpetually trapped in the cold of winter.

—

As soon as Donghyuck wakes up, he immediately knows it’s a bad day. It’s the status quo for him lately. His bones ache with restlessness, but at the same time he can barely get out of bed. What’s wrong with him?

By the time he makes it to the kitchen, everyone is already done eating and, for some reason, he can’t bring himself to heat up the leftovers in the fridge. A nagging voice reminds him that it couldn’t hurt to lose some weight, after all, there’s always another comeback to prepare for.

What he needs is time. Time for his wounds to heal. Time to find warmth within himself again. Instead, he’s ushered into a van with the rest of his members and they’re shuttled to the studio. 

The first few hours of practice pass without a hitch. It’s easy to forget his pain, at least temporarily.

By lunchtime, Donghyuck’s hurt has been replaced with determination, a need to be better. Weight is temporary. He holds on desperately to the fact that it’s something he can change, something he can fix. 

He just wants to be  _ enough. _

The SM cafeteria always has a wide array of food, and sometimes it’s hard not to overindulge. But he’s not going to be like that anymore. He knows what foods are healthy and what foods aren’t, and he’s taking better care of himself now. 

Donghyuck scoops a heap of steamed broccoli onto his plate and apprehensively inspects a sprouted roll that looks like it got stuck somewhere between grain and bread. 

“Hey, fatass.” 

The tongs in his hand clatter to the floor as cold fingers jab into his side. 

_ Fucking Renjun.  _

“Was that really necessary?” Donghyuck sighs, ignoring the sour taste on his tongue. It’s not the first time Renjun has teased him for his weight, but for some reason, it hurts more than usual.

_ It’s just a joke, don’t make it weird.  _ Donghyuck reminds himself.

Renjun, like the little shit he is, just laughs at Donghyuck. 

Donghyuck rolls his eyes. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to enjoy my lunch.” 

“No, you’re not.” 

Donghyuck stops in the middle of turning to go sit down at a table. “Um, what?” 

“That’s more green than I’ve seen you eat in the last year. And what the hell is that  _ thing?”  _ Renjun points accusingly at the roll.

“It’s bread.” Donghyuck slaps his hand away indignantly, but honestly, he’s only 78% sure.

“What’s with this? Are you on a diet or something?” 

Embarrassment washes over Donghyuck. For some reason, he can’t think of anything worse than telling,  _ perfect, skinny  _ Renjun that he needs to diet. It’s no big deal—it’s not even an actual diet. He’s not trying to lose huge amounts of weight, he’s just being careful. 

“It’s called  _ health,  _ look it up.” Donghyuck laughs, but it feels like he’s choking. 

—

A few weeks pass and Donghyuck feels proud of himself. Sure, he had a slice of cake the night before, but balance—right? He’s eating his veggies and his skin is noticeably clearer. Life is good. He’s almost excited to weigh himself. 

It’s early in the morning, so he prays no one hears the shrill scrape of the scale when he slides it out from under the sink. 

He steps onto the glass surface and holds his breath. The number that blinks back at him is higher than the last time. 

Something must be wrong. He steps off and tries again. The same number appears. 

Desperately, he flips over the scale and takes out the batteries, waiting a few moments before putting them back in. The _same_ _fucking number._

Numbly, Donghyuck slides the scale back into its hiding spot. How could he have gained weight? Was all his work for naught?

He confronts his reflection. Fullness in places that he hadn’t paid much attention to before is suddenly glaringly obvious. He should’ve tried harder, worked out more, ate less. 

The mirror is a swirling vortex of agony and Donghyuck can’t look away. Suddenly, he can’t remember if his face has always been this round, or if his nose has always been this wide. Flaw upon flaw transfixes him until the image before him blurs into a hideous creature. 

Donghyuck lifts his shirt, exposing the roundness of his gut and the softness that plagues his entire torso. He should’ve started dieting long ago. 

He grips the sink with white knuckles and screws his eyes shut. He’s breathing but not getting any air. Distantly, he realizes that his cheeks are damp. 

Donghyuck leans against the tiled wall. The cool surface grounds him, and he pointedly doesn’t glance back at the mirror. He’s not even sure why he’s so upset.

He’s just starting to calm down when he hears urgent knocking on the door. 

“One second!” He calls, splashing some water on his face and praying it doesn’t look like he’s been crying.

“Donghyuck, if you make me shit myself I’ll never forgive you.” Mark replies.

Donghyuck bites back a laugh that feels more like a sob. “It’s not my fault you can’t control your bowels. Why don’t you use the bathroom on your own floor?” Begrudgingly, he opens the door.

“Taeil clogged it. Last I checked he was still fighting with the plunger.” Mark starts to push past him, but when he makes eye contact with Donghyuck he freezes. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, why?” Donghyuck just wants to curl up in bed.

“You’re really flushed.” Mark presses a cool hand to Donghyuck’s forehead. “Are you sick?”

“It’s nothing.” Donghyuck tries to wriggle out of the space, but Mark grabs his wrist.

“Are you sure?” Mark begins, but then a look of disgust passes over his face.  _ “Ew.  _ You were jacking off weren’t you.”

“Relax, I wasn’t. Just let me go.” Donghyuck wrenches his arm from Mark’s grasp and slinks back to his room. 

Donghyuck slips into his bed gratefully. He closes his eyes but all he can see are his faults. Slowly, the images that torment him give way to determination. He  _ will  _ be better. 

—

Colorful banners adorn every possible surface and confetti fills the air. People in glittery makeup and vividly colored outfits dance in the streets of Seoul. Donghyuck doesn’t know the exact name of the parade, but he knows it’s for pride. It's filled with so much  _ love  _ that it makes Donghyuck sick with envy. 

In the van, none of the other members seem to be paying it much attention as they drive past the outskirts of the parade. 

“I hope they hose everything off after.” The driver says. It’s a man who Donghyuck has never met before, but he immediately doesn’t like him. 

“Huh?” Donghyuck asks, because  _ what the fuck.  _

“It’s disgusting, to see all these fags on the street, spreading all kinds of disease. It’s not natural, they should know their place.” The manager sneers. 

“Shouldn’t they have the right to be who they are?” The rest of the van goes silent and Donghyuck realizes that he has just entered the hyena’s den.

“I didn’t realize you were like that.” 

“No—I’m not—I just—“ Donghyuck stammers. He realizes that he has just degraded his own opinion, and by the way the driver ignores him, he can tell that he isn’t respected. “Forget I said anything.”

Donghyuck feels incredibly small as he stares at his shoes. He can’t even look at anyone. Johnny pats his shoulder reassuringly, but doesn’t say anything in Donghyuck’s defense. The silence of his members is  _ loud. _

And that is perhaps what is most painful.

—

“Donghyuck? Dinner’s ready.” Mark calls through the door.

“Coming.” He replies, but his voice catches.

A moment of silence passes and Donghyuck prays that Mark will leave. Instead, Mark pokes his stupid, kind face into the room.

“Dude, are you okay?”

“Yes.” Donghyuck’s voice is shaky and he’s still crying. 

“Shut up, and tell me what’s wrong.” 

“That doesn’t even make sense.” Donghyuck sniffles.

“The driver upset you didn’t he.”

“Is it that obvious?” Donghyuck laughs bitterly.

“Nah, I just know you.” Mark smiles sweetly. “Talk to me.”

“How can someone have so much hate for people they know nothing about just based on who they love?” 

Mark opens his mouth to respond, but Jaehyun knocks on their door and tells them to  _ hurry up, dinner is getting cold.  _

“I’ll meet you out there.” Donghyuck tells Mark, who reluctantly shrugs in reply.

As soon as the door snaps shut, Donghyuck curls around his fluffiest blanket. He feels indescribably sad, exposed, but terrified. In a weird way, his emotions conflict and blend together into exhausting numbness. Strangely, it makes him want to hide in his room and skip dinner. 

By the time Donghyuck forces himself to dinner, the table is lively with raucous conversations and banchan sailing between plates. The food is delicious, yet every bite of food turns to ash between his teeth. Something unsettling and cold has settled beneath his skin, but he can’t understand what it is. Despite his efforts to ignore the thoughts nagging at the back of his mind, he can’t stand to do more than nibble at a piece of kimchi jeon. 

Silently, Taeyong nudges him and tilts his head toward Donghyuck’s untouched plate. 

“Not feeling well.” Donghyuck explains quietly.

By the tightness in his face, it’s clear that Taeyong isn’t convinced, but doesn’t press the issue further.

Luckily, no one seems to notice when Donghyuck throws a full plate into the trash.

—

Hushed voices from the living room nudge Donghyuck out of his sleepy haze. When he hears the manager’s voice, it’s as though he has been thrown into a vat of ice water. 

He channels every bit of stealth he has and creeps into the hallway. It’s dark, so he hides in the shadows, not worried about being seen. 

Taeyong and one of their managers are sitting on the couch together. Never a good sign. 

“Can the group take next month off? I’m worried that some of our members are being overworked.” Taeyong’s hands are clasped delicately in his lap, but the fire in his eyes is that of a fighter.

“Why do you say that? You’re basically done with promoting the comeback.” The manager replies nonchalantly.

“I know, but constantly practicing with no break in sight is stressing everyone out.” 

“You’re the only one that has complained. Is this truly an issue?”

“I just told you that it’s an issue.” Taeyong says evenly, but Donghyuck can tell he’s verging on losing his composure.

“Stress isn’t necessarily a bad thing. But if someone in particular is having problems we can pull them from the group temporarily. We did that for Jungwoo and it worked.”

“I don’t think he’d agree to it, especially since he has a comeback for Dream soon. But I can tell he’s been overwhelmed lately. He hasn’t been himself.” Taeyong sighs.

Donghyuck furrows his brow. Taeyong must be talking about him. Suddenly, anger bubbles in his chest, because how  _ dare  _ Taeyong act like he knows what’s best for him. Donghyuck is fine, and Taeyong has no business talking about him—especially not with the manager. He’s not a fucking child.

“Ah, so you’re talking about Donghyuck.” The manager muses. “He hasn’t given us any reason for concern, and until he does, we will refrain from intervening.” 

For the first time in his life, Donghyuck loves their manager. 

“But I can tell he’s not doing well. He has been looking gaunt lately, and he seems distracted. I can tell that there’s something on his mind—he’s not happy.” Taeyong says with an exasperated whine edging into the corners of his voice.

“Perhaps he is simply maturing?” The manager smiles. “You’re a good leader, Taeyong, but try not to worry so much. Leave it to management to keep an eye on everything.”

“Maybe I’m just being paranoid.” Taeyong still seems conflicted, and his hands are balled in frustrated fists. 

Words of reassurance threaten to spill from Donghyuck’s lips, but why should he need to reassure Taeyong? Nothing is wrong. The act of denying Taeyong’s concerns would only encourage more suspicion.

When he retreats back to his room, he can already feel in his bones the whispers of a restless sleep.

—

“See you later, Donghyuck.” Johnny says over his shoulder.

“Where are you going?”

“Um, to the gym with Jaehyun.”

“Can I come? Please?” Donghyuck tries not to sound too desperate.

“Sure? Just try to get ready soon.” Johnny shrugs.

“I’m ready to go right now.” Donghyuck replies, standing up and grabbing his phone.

“You’re wearing the thickest pair of sweats you own, do you want to be miserable?” 

“I’ll be fine. Don’t worry about it.” Donghyuck is amorphous, frame obscured by fleecy fabric. It feels safe.

“Whatever. Come on, Jaehyun’s waiting in the lobby downstairs.” 

The walk to the gym is longer than Donghyuck had expected and he’s exhausted by the time they get there. He knows he’d feel better physically if he had eaten today, but the hunger is what’s holding him together. He feels strong. If the world shifts with every step he takes, it’s just a mild annoyance.

Wordlessly, Johnny hands him a kettlebell. It’s tiny—only 2 kilos. Donghyuck tries not to feel insulted. But it hurts. Does he really look that out of shape?

“Hey, why do you get the big one.” Donghyuck whines playfully, throwing in some aegyo that makes Johnny cringe.

“Because I can handle it?” Johnny sounds confused, as though he can’t imagine Donghyuck being capable of lifting something substatial.

“I can handle more than this!” Donghyuck protests. He didn’t come to the gym to take it easy. 

“Just try this for now, I don’t want you to injure yourself.” Johnny says placatingly. “And no offense, but you’ve been looking a little frail lately. I’d worry that something heavier would break you.“

Donghyuck sighs inwardly but nods. Johnny is being nice enough to let Donghyuck workout with him, the least he could do is be gracious.

He finds himself enjoying the kettlebell exercises. It makes his legs burn in a way that feels like his muscles are eating themselves. It’s a necessary pain. 

After spending some time on a machine that looks like a medieval torture device, Johnny hands Donghyuck off to Jaehyun.

Immediately, Donghyuck is given a set of dumbbells, and Jaehyun tells him to do lunges across the gym and back. He’s only halfway across the gym when it starts going south. His legs feel much heavier than he remembers and they aren’t cooperating with him. Nausea rises in his chest, but there’s nothing for him to throw up anyway. Static floods his senses as his vision blurs and his hearing fades. His eyelids flutter, fighting to stay open. Distantly, he hears Jaehyun call his name.

He staggers through another lunge, the weights falling from his grip as he crumples to the floor. 

When his vision clears, the first thing he sees is Johnny’s worried expression. Even Jaehyun, who is usually fairly impassive, looks mildly terrified. 

“Hey guys.” Donghyuck smiles wearily, letting Johnny force him into a sitting position. It makes his head spin, he probably shouldn't be moving yet but he doesn’t want to worry them further. He already feels guilty enough for ruining their workout.

“Drink.” Jaehyun orders, pressing a sports drink to Donghyuck’s lips. He can’t find it within himself to worry about the calories.

After a few minutes Donghyuck starts to feel better. “Sorry.” He ventures.

“The hell was that?” Johnny snaps.

“I fell?” Donghyuck asks. He’s pretty sure he just fainted, but admitting that is dangerous.

Jaehyun fiddles with his phone nervously. “Do you need me to call someone? A manager? An ambulance—”

“No! Don’t call anyone, I’m fine.” Donghyuck clears his throat sheepishly, and lowers his voice. “Really, I didn’t sleep that well last night and I guess it caught up to me.”

Johnny’s face is stony, stuck halfway between a frown and a grimace. “Fine.”

“Don’t scare us like that again, Hyuck.” Jaehyun says softly.

—

By the end of the month Donghyuck loses quite a bit of weight. It’s less than he has weighed in a long time. But still, it’s not enough. The insidious voice in the back of his mind croons for  _ more.  _

It’s moments like this in the darkness of midnight, when Donghyuck sneaks off to the bathroom to contort himself before the mirror and examine every crevice and curve of his body, that he finds it hard to rationalize why he’s being so cruel to himself. Why eating equates to self hatred. It wasn’t always like this.

But it’s also moments like this where it’s easy to convince himself that this is something normal. Maybe not for the average person, but he’s an idol, he should be concerned with his appearance. It’s not a problem, it’s not something scary, it’s just part of the contract. Everyone starves themselves sometimes, right?

He looks in the mirror and purses his lips. The boy that looks back is so far from lovable.


	2. Downfall

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Firstly, some of you may have noticed the change in title. It will make sense by chapter 5.
> 
> Just a warning, this chapter briefly mentions drugs as a way to insult the protagonist. There is also an allusion to suicide, though it is not overt. Lastly, as it’s tagged, there is purging and it is accompanied by bingeing, so please, do not read if any of this is triggering for you! I want my writing to bring you comfort not pain. :)

For idols, birthdays aren’t just birthdays anymore. They’re another opportunity to film, a chance to throw a surprise party, maybe stage a prank, hopefully make someone cry. So it’s no surprise to Donghyuck, when on Jeno’s birthday, he and Mark are taken to the Dream dorm for all of the above. 

“You don’t look well, Donghyuck.” The makeup noona frowns as she frets over his dark circles with a concealer that definitely isn’t high coverage enough.

“I‘m just tired.” It’s true. 

“Maybe that’s it.” She bites her lip, as if she’s not sure she should say more, but then in a hushed voice she continues speaking. “I know there’s a lot of pressure on you boys to be slim, but please take care of yourself. You’ve been looking too thin lately.”

And if that isn’t music to Donghyuck’s ears. But he doesn’t want to worry her. He’s so far from being thin it’s laughable. She must just be trying to be nice, find something to blame his unsightly appearance on. 

“You should run along now. They’re going to start filming soon.” Her voice sounds unsteady, and she won’t meet Donghyuck’s eyes. He’s about to say something when one of the managers comes over and whisks him away. 

Filming passes by seamlessly, and Donghyuck is almost able to forget the sadness in her eyes. When Jeno blows out his candles, he says he wishes for their fans to be healthy and happy. Donghyuck grits his teeth and forces a playfulness that gives no hint to how every breath pains him.

Mark catches his eyes, and gives him a curious glance. Donghyuck grins in a way he hopes is reassuring. By the look on Mark’s face, he isn’t doing a very good job. Is he that transparent?

Cupcakes are passed out. By the time the other boys are on their second or third cupcakes, Donghyuck is still nibbling at the paper of his first. 

—

Donghyuck has never been lucky. It’s only a day after the broadcast ended, and his timeline is already flooded with tweets about his behavior. They all talk about the same thing: how much weight he has lost and how he didn’t eat that stupid cupcake.

He remembers when Yuta got put through the wringer just for looking at the label on a bottle. Donghyuck should’ve known better. 

Why didn’t he just eat the damn thing?

He throws his phone onto the floor and rolls over, shoving his face into the couch cushion and letting out a low groan. It’s not like he doesn’t eat at all. There’s no need for anyone to worry.

“Donghyuck, can I speak with you?” 

It’s times like these that Donghyuck hates living with their manager.

“Yeah, sure.” He sighs, moving his feet so his manager can sit down. It’s not like he could’ve said no.

“I’m guessing you’ve seen the tweets already.” 

“I have.” Donghyuck admits. “They’re a load of bull.”

“Really? Then why are the fans concerned?” His manager speaks slowly and evenly, as though he’s dealing with a small child. 

It infuriates Donghyuck, but he forces down his anger. All he has to do is say the right things and get through this conversation.

“My stomach was bothering me and I didn’t want to risk upsetting it while we were live.” Donghyuck lies. It’s close enough to the actual truth.

The manager stares at him for a few moments, mulling over the truthfulness of Donghyuck’s words. He looks like he accepts what Donghyuck says, because he shrugs and replies, “Alright, we can fix this.”

“We can?” 

“Here’s the plan: you’ll do another live tomorrow and you’ll tell the fans that you weren’t feeling well but now you’re completely better. To make it more believable this live will be a mukbang.” 

“Fine. Can I at least choose what I get to eat?” Donghyuck sighs. In all honesty, it’s a good plan. It will not only erase the fan’s concern, but also reassure his team. But that doesn’t mean he has to  _ like  _ the plan.

“I’ll decide what you eat.” Is the stern response Donghyuck gets. It’s what he deserves after worrying fans for no reason. He’ll be lucky if this doesn’t hurt NCT’s image.

“Can someone join me?” Donghyuck prepares to be shot down again.

The manager looks surprised. “Sure, who do you want?”

He doesn’t even have to think about it. “Mark.” 

—

The food is better than Donghyuck had expected. When his manager said that he’d choose, Donghyuck was anticipating ramen and greasy chicken. Instead, a steaming plate of tteokbokki sits between two bowls of bulgogi bibimbap. It’s food that Donghyuck still feels somewhat comfortable eating, although the portion is much larger than he’d like. 

The VLive is a lot of fun. And as Donghyuck laughs with Mark over a comment he realizes how much he has missed this. It’s easy to bask in Mark’s infectious warmth. 

He’s able to end the live with a smile on his face—a genuine one. It feels good to be happy, to be full, to just live. 

“Hyuck, do you want to get ice cream or something now? We could go to the convenience store.” Mark asks once the camera has stopped rolling, and their manager has long since left the room.

Refusal is on the tip of Donghyuck’s tongue, but something about Mark’s impish grin and the way his eyes sparkle with hope stops him from saying no. “Sure, lets go.”

“Last one there pays.” Mark laughs, pulling Donghyuck out the door, shoes slipping off the heels of their feet.

—

At some point, Donghyuck started to fear a lot of things. They’re all small and trivial, but they torment him when his mind is quiet and they have the chance to be loud. He knows it’s not normal to be terrified of eating after 7:00 and he knows it’s  _ really  _ not normal to avoid drinking water after 9:00. A small voice in the back of his head tells him that it’s not healthy, and this isn’t a diet anymore. He can’t hear it over his fear.

He tries to hold onto the blushing euphoria of running through the Seoul moonlight, but uncertainty whispers to him when he’s laying in his bed, the sweetness of the ice cream nothing more than a distant memory. 

Donghyuck sits up in bed and brings his knees to his chest. He tangles his fingers in his hair and pulls. It doesn’t hurt enough. All he can feel is the bulging of his stomach and the acidity of remorse that tickles the back of his tongue. 

He sneaks into the bathroom and splashes cold water on his face. It doesn’t help. He could drain the Han River and still wouldn’t feel better. 

Suddenly, a startling numbness possesses him: he knows what he needs to do. He’s not as stupid or innocent as some believe, he knows that he has to get rid of it and he knows how. 

He feels strangely calm as he leans over the toilet and shoves a hand into his mouth. He’s not sure if he’s doing it right, but then again, isn’t degrading himself like this inherently wrong? His mind is blank as he wiggles his fingers deeper. Tears escape the corners of his eyes. Finally, he feels something shift—it’s his only warning before a disgusting stream of bile and half-digested tteok spews from his mouth. He can tell he hasn’t gotten everything up, so he scrapes again at the back of his throat. 

By the time Donghyuck feels empty, he’s a snotty, slobbering mess, too sick to get off the floor. Weakly, he flushes the toilet and dabs at his bleeding knuckles with a wad of toilet paper. It’s the best and worst he has ever felt, both simultaneously high on the pain and terrified of it. 

He hates how it feels right.

—

Donghyuck loses more weight, and yet he’s still too big. The scale doesn’t lie, he knows he’s smaller. So why does he _feel_ worse? It seems that it’s not just weight he’s losing, but also his sanity. 

He’s purging more, because he’s weak and wouldn’t know self control if it introduced itself. His voice has grown scratchier, and it must be noticeable, because more often than not, his vocal coach is sending him home with a styrofoam cup of tea. He’s ruining everything about himself that makes him worthy of the spotlight. Soon enough, he’ll have nothing but a worn body and a tired soul.

And yet he can’t stop. 

_ Burden, burden, burden. _ His mind screams at him.

Even in losing weight he’s greedy. It’s horrifying how he can count his ribs and yet he still wants more, to wither into fragile nothingness. 

Donghyuck is laying in bed, trying to find the strength to get up, when Mark comes in and sits by his feet. 

“Good morning, Hyuck.” Mark says softly.

“Morning.” Donghyuck hums back, shifting a bit and patting the space next to him. With a sigh, Mark lays down next to him.

“You’re freezing.” Mark gasps when Donghyuck presses his cold hands against the other’s back, just to be a brat.

“I always am.” Donghyuck rasps, his voice cracking with disuse and the three donuts he purged last night. 

“I’m worried about you, Hyuck.” Mark mumbles. Suddenly, Donghyuck is painfully aware of how his fat and bones are pressed against Mark, who is all lean muscle. “We all are.”

“Why?” Donghyuck swallows thickly, scooching away.

“Don’t make me spell it out for you.” Mark sounds weirdly emotional. “You’re getting really thin.”

“Yeah, right. Get your eyes checked, Mark.” Donghyuck snorts, getting out of the bed. Suddenly, he feels very trapped.

“You’re sick.” Mark’s eyes are watery.

“You’re  _ crazy.”  _ Donghyuck’s voice is shrill with panic. 

“Why are you doing this? It isn’t healthy. You don’t  _ look  _ healthy.” Mark emphasizes every syllable with disbelief.

“Gee, thanks.” Donghyuck rolls his eyes. “As if I care what you think. You’re not my mom.”

“I’m only saying this because I care about you. You’re killing yourself.” Mark hisses.

“I’m  _ fine.”  _ Donghyuck tries not to let emotion slip into his voice. He needs to get out.

“Why won’t you just talk to me?” 

“There’s nothing to talk about. You’re being damn annoying, though.” Donghyuck scoffs, but he wants to cry. Why can’t he just have this vice, his one comfort? 

“Don’t say that, you don’t mean it.” 

“Sure. Keep telling yourself that.” Donghyuck turns to open the bedroom door, but Mark catches him around his middle.

“I’m not letting you leave. We can fix this.” Mark pleads.

“There’s nothing to fix, let me go.” Donghyuck tries to say, but the words get caught in his throat. Suddenly, Mark’s hands shift up slightly and his fingers slot into Donghyuck’s hollowed ribs. 

“Holy shit.” Mark chokes out.

“Get your hands off me.” Donghyuck says lowly. He knows if he doesn’t leave, he’s going to do something that he’ll regret.

Mark is silent, frozen in place. 

“I said,  _ don’t touch me!”  _ Donghyuck growls, twisting away from Mark. But still, Mark follows him into the living room. 

“Is everything okay?” Jungwoo asks. Doyoung is sitting next to him on the couch and looks equally worried. 

Donghyuck chooses to ignore them, more focused on shoving his arms into a windbreaker and stuffing his feet into shoes. It’s no one’s business anyway.

“Donghyuck, come on. Please, don’t leave, it’s raining out.” Mark grabs his arm in a final act of desperation, but Donghyuck has had enough.

“Stop touching me!” Donghyuck shrieks, his voice shrill with exasperation. Mark still isn’t letting go. 

With a sickening smack, Mark’s head hits the wall. Silence suffocates the room. There’s a strange shadow cast over Mark’s face. For a moment, he looks absolutely terrified.

Something ugly and sadistic crawls up Donghyuck’s throat, and he almost smiles at the pained look Mark sends him.  _ Good.  _ Maybe Mark will hate him as much as he hates himself. Donghyuck just doesn’t want to be the only one hurting anymore. 

“You pushed me?” Mark says, but he sounds more shocked than mad.

Donghyuck runs. 

It’s not until he reaches the Han River that he can breathe again. By the time he gets there the rain has stopped, and the sky is beautiful. He hates it. The sky is too clear and the sun is too bright and the clouds are too fluffy. Nothing is right because he  _ hurt  _ Mark. He’s a monster.

Why did he do that? Why does he even care about what Mark thinks? Why did he have to lash out? Why can’t he let someone help him?  _ Why, why, why? _

Before his last ounce of self preservation can stop him, he crouches in a cluster of bushes and shoves his fingers down his throat. Because he deserves it. Because maybe it will make him feel better. All that comes up is bile, his stomach still churning with guilt. God, if any sasaeng saw him they’d have an absolute field day. He wonders if this is what rock bottom feels like.

Shuddering, he pushes himself out of the shrubbery and staggers to a bench, wiping his hands on his sweatpants. He’s in the middle of a park, but he isn’t worried about being seen. Perhaps he’s being an idiot, but he decides if he looks as shitty as he feels, then he’s likely close to being unrecognizable. 

There comes a point in life where everyone does the most horrible thing they ever have done and ever will do. Donghyuck knows that he has just entered his darkest hour.

Mark’s beautiful smile and cheerful laugh fill Donghyuck’s mind, mocking him. Sinking realization impales him like a poisoned spear. He knows why he cares so much, he has always known. Donghyuck loves Mark in every sense of the word. Enduringly, affectionately, platonically, romantically, obsessively, selfishly. But it’s all love that Donghyuck will never receive—or at least doesn’t deserve to.

A sob tears its way from his throat, viscous with remorse, nothing will ever be okay again. 

What makes him feel more pathetic is that he knows he’s overreacting. 

He doesn’t eat for three days after that. 

(Everything hurts a little less when he’s starving.)

—

Donghyuck doesn’t apologize, but then again, no one seems to be mad at him, even Mark—stupid, wonderful Mark. He wishes they would be. He wants to hurt. Instead of sharp glares and harsh words, he gets sad eyes and gentle reassurances. 

It’s clear everyone knows that  _ something  _ happened, but aren’t privy to the details. If they knew how horrible he is, they wouldn't be so kind. He knows they’d be disgusted by his repulsive habits, or how mean he is, or how he likes broad shoulders over curvy hips,  _ or how he likes Mark. _

Perhaps Donghyuck should grovel and try to apologize to Mark. Make everything right. But it’s easier like this. It’s always been Mark, and it always will be. Hysterically, Donghyuck thinks he should tell Mark how he feels, make the boy truly push him away for good. Perhaps Mark would be disgusted by Donghyuck’s sexuality, or maybe just by the fact that it’s  _ Donghyuck  _ who likes him. 

When did love become so violent?

Donghyuck just wants everyone to hate him as much as he does himself. A punishment suiting for the blood he owes. He doesn’t deserve forgiveness. 

At dance practice he simply goes through the motions, spending most of his time avoiding the mirror while simultaneously not being able to look away. 

By the time dinner rolls around, Donghyuck is ravenous. His hunger cues are something he thought had been dissolved by misery. It shouldn’t be a big deal—it’s  _ not _ a big deal. He’s hungry, so he should eat. But it hasn’t been that simple lately.

In the car, he agonizes over the issue. Should he eat dinner with the others? A small salad would be plenty, but what excuse will he use this time? It shouldn’t be stressful, but it is. 

“Hyuck? Do you want to have dinner with me?” Mark asks timidly.

Guilt fills him from head to toe. Even after everything, Mark is still so kind. He can’t say no. “Okay.” He shrugs.

Mark looks shocked at his compliance, but schools his expression into a tender smile. “Just us.” He promises.

Donghyuck ignores how it makes his heart flutter.  _ Not allowed,  _ he reminds himself. 

“Can we get tacos? If not, no big deal.” 

Donghyuck sighs inwardly. He’d do anything for Mark. “Tacos are fine.”

They end up at a hole in the wall Mexican restaurant that makes up for being the size of a postage stamp with incredible food. It’s not completely authentic, but it’s the best you can get in Korea. There’s something about the copper lighting and worn booths that Donghyuck loves.

“I’m glad we came here.” He says, and despite how the napkin in his lap has eaten more than he has, he means it. 

“Me too.” Mark looks the best he has in a while, and Donghyuck wonders if it’s because of their fight.

“I’m sorry.” He whispers, staring pointedly at the dollop of sour cream on his plate. “I’ve been a bad friend recently.”

Salty tears fall into his ramekin of pico de gallo. 

“I forgive you.” Mark reaches across the table to wipe at Donghyuck’s cheeks with a cheap paper napkin. The simple act of kindness just makes him cry harder. He’s so undeserving.

“Thank you.” Donghyuck feels ridiculous, crying in a Mexican restaurant with guac hidden in his sleeves. But it’s also the most okay he has felt recently, because Mark doesn’t hate him. 

“I’m sorry, too.”

“Shut up. This is supposed to be  _ my  _ moment of redemption.” Donghyuck teases, flashing a watery smile.

“Diva.” Mark pushes at his shoulder and the tension disintegrates into amicable silence. Donghyuck revels in it, for a bitter voice in the back of his mind reminds him that this is only temporary. 

The voice is right. It’s past midnight and Donghyuck can’t sleep. Eating something with actual flavor has awakened a beast that screams for  _ more.  _

He tries to revel in his happiness, holding onto the sweetness of his time with Mark, the lightness in his chest at being forgiven. But once everyone has retired to bed, he is ensnared by someone visceral and unhinged—raw in a way that borders on being feral. 

Donghyuck is elbow deep in a box of cereal before he realizes what he’s doing. Something within him snaps. Nothing matters, he decides as he devours an entire jar of peanut butter. He doesn’t even  _ like  _ peanut butter. 

Hysterically, he rampages through cabinets, absorbing crisp packages and cardboard boxes. Torrents of shame rush through his veins, begging for him to  _ please, stop.  _ But it’s too late for sanity. 

He’s trapped in a haze of insatiable hunger and agonizing fullness. 

Finally, through shuddering breaths and bitter tears, he returns to his body. Within him, something has just irrevocably shattered. Shoving everything back into the cabinets and drawers that it came from, he hurries to the bathroom. 

Donghyuck is simultaneously horrified and sickly captivated by what looks back at him in the mirror. He has to fix it.

He retches and gags around every bit of torturous guilt that crawls it’s way up his throat. He drinks overly warm water from the tap after he has thrown up all the food he can, and throws up that. Because he’s insatiable when it comes to suffering. He purges water until it comes up clear and he can hardly see straight. 

But even after all his pain, the same hideous creature greets him when he dares to look back at the mirror. He never wants to eat again.

Bravely, he decides to weigh himself, to assess how much damage has been done.  _ Mistake.  _

In a pitiful ball, he curls up on the shower floor, warm water beating down on his spine, steam filling the air. By the time he’s done crying, he feels like a raisin—dried up of any whisper of emotion, completely unfeeling. He knows he’s close to fainting and thinks it would be fittingly pathetic to drown in the inch of water pooling by the drain. 

Resentfully, he stares at his scarred knuckles and bony knees. He can’t find meaning in any of it. Distantly, he thinks that it should terrify him.

—

Donghyuck knows something is wrong the moment he wakes up. First of all, Johnny is being weirdly nice to him. His excessively pleasantness seems strained and ingenuine. While it’s mildly unsettling, it isn’t entirely abnormal. Maybe he’s just happy to be done with the comeback?

But what’s truly strange is how Donghyuck can’t find his phone. He’s not the most organized, so he figures that maybe he misplaced it? But when he asks Doyoung to call his phone, he’s met with blatant refusal and told to keep looking. 

Strange indeed.

He  _ knows  _ it has to be in the dorm, so he’s not too stressed. He decides he’ll wait until it turns up on its own. There’s no time to waste looking for it, he’s already running late for practice with Dream. 

Taeyong hands Donghyuck a banana and a water bottle before their manager can shove him out the door. Donghyuck accepts both gratefully, and Taeyong beams in response. 

Tension fills the air the moment Donghyuck enters the studio. Immediately, the room grows silent. As he sets down his bag, he can feel eyes on him. It’s clear he has just walked into a conversation that he’s not supposed to hear. He pushes the anxiety down that threatens to tear him apart at the seams. 

It’s nearly imperceptible, but the awkwardness lingers even as they rehearse choreography. Jisung praises his dancing, Chenle randomly throws compliments his way, even their choreographer is being unnecessarily nice to him. When Donghyuck stumbles, instead of being scolded, he’s asked if he’s okay and reminded to be careful. 

He prays to whatever god is listening to get him through the practice. Jaemin won’t banter with him and Renjun won’t meet his eyes when they talk. It’s almost as though complete strangers have invaded the minds of his friends. 

He thinks of a horror movie that had kept him up for weeks, Body Snatchers. He knows it’s impossible, but his friends are behaving much like the plant-like aliens in the movie. It’s unnerving in ways that make the hair on the back of his neck stand up straight. 

Tingles of suspicion shoot his spine like zaps of electricity. He can’t shake the feeling that this is somehow connected to his missing phone. 

During a water break, Donghyuck meekly excuses himself to go to the bathroom. He already knows that they’re going to be talking about him when he leaves.  _ Let them,  _ he thinks bitterly. 

He slips into the hallway, pleased at his small victory. On his way out he managed to slip Chenle’s phone into his pocket.

Donghyuck hurries to the bathroom and locks himself in a stall. He wastes no time and unlocks Chenle’s phone. He decides to check where his phone is. The app locates it as being in their dorm. He groans inwardly, he probably just overlooked it in his haste to get ready this morning. 

With a buzz, a message from the main NCT group chat come in. It’s just a thumbs-up emoji, but Donghyuck is still curious since he hasn’t been able to check it yet today. He scrolls up to see what the emoji was even in reply to.

Cursing, he almost drops Chenle’s phone into the toilet. Righting the device, he glares at the message again. 

  
  


**_Taeyong_ **

_ Something happened—I’m sure everyone already saw. Management confiscated Donghyuck’s phone. Keep him off Naver today. Wi-Fi is turned off in the dorms until this blows over. Manager said SM may sue for defamation…  _

  
  


Donghyuck blinks dumbly, because  _ what the fuck. _

He checks Naver immediately. His name is trending and a sinking feeling of dread grasps his heart. Nervously, he searches his name. Tweets and articles pop up, but then he sees it. 

**_NCT HAECHAN: THE DOWNFALL OF NCT?_ **

Before self preservation can stop himself, he clicks on the link. It’s a netizen thread. It’s also the meanest thing he has ever seen. And the worst part is that it’s gaining traction online, with countless comments and upvotes. 

A picture of him throwing up in the bushes greets him first.  _ Shit,  _ so someone had seen him. How could he have missed that? Luckily the picture is so pixely that it  _ could  _ be someone else. He’s even more fortunate that it’s not obvious that his hand is down his throat—but the thought that whoever saw him knows the truth is absolutely chilling. 

There’s a sharper picture of him on the bench, small splatters of bright orange bile staining his jacket. His eyes are open yet unseeing, and his skin is sallow yet flushed. He looks awful in every possible sense of the world. When he dares to scroll down further, vulgar and cruel comments fill the screen—and they’re all about  _ him. _

  
  


_ Do I smell another idol drug scandal? Look at how strung out he looks—anyone can tell that he’s tweaking. NCT should get rid of him before this becomes a witch hunt. _

_ Is heroin-chic the new flower boy concept? Hahah. I bet he’s an escort now or some shit. SM has truly lowered their standards. _

_ Crack whore. There’s a reason why NCT has been gaining popularity recently… who’s your sponsor, sweetie? _

_ Drugs aren’t cute. He’s an addict. If he actually cared about his fans, he’d be healthy. Unstanning. _

_ Imagine being so selfish that you’d throw away your appearance and damage your group’s reputation. Fucking narcissistic prick. Even Mark looked done with him on their VLive. _

  
  


Chenle’s expensive phone clatters to the bathroom floor, landing with a splash in a puddle of what is probably pee. Donghyuck doesn’t care. All he can think about is the comments and the thousands of upvotes on each one, and those god forsaken pictures of him. He’s so  _ stupid.  _ Why wasn’t he more careful? Why is he so weak? Why does he always have to react so emotionally?

Anger surges through him, because he doesn’t even know these people. How  _ dare _ they. But then he’s filled with nauseating shame and humiliation. Of course, he’s not an escort or an addict—those claims are baseless. But still, there’s undeniable proof that  _ something  _ is wrong after all. Pictures that scream of sickness. The harsh words and accusations take him back to his own fears and insecurities. He feels so fucking alone. 

Maybe he deserves it. He shoves his fingers down his throat and sobs around them, though nothing comes up. Desperately, he claws at his throat. He can’t breathe, suffocating in a finely woven web of contempt. For his members for lying to him, for the netizens, for every single fiber of his being. 

A chilling thought sneaks into his consciousness.  _ He doesn’t want to exist anymore.  _

It’s tantalizingly euphoric: an unattainable escape. He howls with grief, mourning his own death wish. 

“Donghyuck? Did you fall in or something?” He hears Jisung shout, his voice bouncing off of the tiled walls. 

Donghyuck lets out a broken, guttural noise—one that would normally embarrass him, be he is so beyond caring what Jisung thinks. 

“Shit.” Jisung sounds distraught, quickly pocketing Chenle’s phone, piss water and all. “Come on, you’re okay.”

“No!” Donghyuck wails, but Jisung hushes him.

“Try to breathe, alright?”

“I am.” Donghyuck gasps.

“Yeah, but you’re doing it wrong.” Jisung crouches in front of Donghyuck, dabbing at Donghyuck’s face with a wad of scratchy toilet paper. “Breathe with me.”

Donghyuck grips Jisung’s fingers like a vice, and eventually his breathing becomes more steady. It’s still a far cry from normal but it’s better.

“Let’s get you off the floor, idiot.” Jisung says, but Donghyuck curls in on himself.  _ He can’t. _

Donghyuck wheezes in protest when he feels hands under his arms, lifting him off the wet tiles and bodily forcing him into the hallway. He wonders when Jisung became so strong.

“Christ, you’re light.” Jisung mutters as he sets Donghyuck down on a bench. 

Donghyuck gurgles in response, focusing on a clump of dust next to his shoe.

_ This isn’t real. This isn’t real. This isn’t real. _

“Crap, I’m going to get some help. I’ll be right back, okay?” Jisung begins to stand.

“Don’t leave me.  _ Please.”  _ Donghyuck latches onto Jisung, ending up halfway in the other’s lap.

“There, there?” Jisung huffs a nervous laugh, awkwardly patting Donghyuck’s back. “I’m not really sure what to do right now.”

“Just stay with me.” Donghyuck pleads, tucking his face into Jisung’s shoulder and screwing his eyes shut.

“You know what they’re saying is complete bull shit, right? None of them are real fans.” 

“I can’t—“ Donghyuck’s voice breaks. “Don’t talk about it.”

“Right, sorry.” 

“Guys?” A tentative yet curious voice calls out from down the corridor.

“We’re over here, Chenle!” Jisung yells in response, sounding excessively relieved.

“Where have you been? We’ve been waiting for—“ Chenle trails off as he takes in the scene in front of him. Donghyuck knows he must look like a wreck and a half.

“Oh my god.” Chenle hisses. “He saw, didn’t he?”

“Yeah, he took your phone. Sorry, it’s wet and cracked.” Jaemin sighs, handing Chenle his phone with one hand and continuing to pat Donghyuck with the other.

“Sorry.” Donghyuck whimpers.

“It’s fine, I wanted to get a new one anyway.” Chenle sits down on the other side of Donghyuck and envelops him in a warm hug.

“Why are you so rich?” Donghyuck laughs hysterically as tears slide down his cheeks. He’s really losing it.

Chenle ignores him, and pulls him closer. Donghyuck’s head finds its home in the crook of Chenle’s neck. “I’m so gross.” Donghyuck sniffles, but he’s only partially talking about the snot he’s smearing onto Chenle’s probably expensive shirt.

“Not gross.” Chenle replies sternly, cradling Donghyuck’s head with fierce protectiveness. 

Distantly, Donghyuck notices that Jisung has disappeared, likely to get someone else. Donghyuck doesn’t care.

“I’m worried about you. We all are. You haven’t seemed yourself lately as it is, and now  _ this?” _ Chenle whispers into his scalp. “Things have been rough, haven’t they?” 

Donghyuck can tell the words are meant to be soothing, but they only make him more distraught. He’s supposed to be the older one, the strong one, someone Chenle could lean on. Donghyuck is greedy—all he does is take. He truly is the downfall of NCT.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I struggled with this chapter a lot, and I’m not completely satisfied still. It seems too superficial I guess? 
> 
> Either way, I hope you liked it!


	3. Smoke and Mirrors

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all the lovely comments and kudos on the previous chapters!! They give me so much motivation to write :)
> 
> All tagged triggers may apply to this chapter! Please read with caution. Also vaping is briefly an element in this chapter. I don’t think it would bother anyone but I thought I should mention it in case it does.
> 
> Hope you enjoy this chapter! I’m a poetry lover so you’ll peep some at the end!

When Jisung returns, it’s with their manager and a frantic Renjun in tow. 

“Come on, Donghyuk. I’m taking you back to the dorms.” The manager places a firm hand on the top of Donghyuck’s spine. 

“Can’t you see he needs a moment?” Renjun snaps, immediately recoiling when the manager glares at him. “Sorry, I’m just worried.”

“I need to finish practice.” Donghyuck scrubs his face furiously. He can’t let himself hinder NCT more than he already has. He can’t let the thread prove true.

“What you need is to rest.” Chenle says, encouraging him to stand.

Donghyuck digs his nails his palms. Small rivulets of blood seep into the spaces between his fingers. He might need the day off, but he doesn’t want it. It’s not truly a day off. He’ll get to wallow at home while the others work on the comeback. It only delays the work he’ll have to do and makes catching up harder. 

“Fine.” Donghyuck exhales, the fight leaving him in one breath. He hangs his head so no one will see him furiously blinking wetness from his eyes. Chenle and Renjun hug him tightly, affectionate in a way so tender that he is able to lose himself in their embrace—if just for a moment. But his reprieve is shattered by the manager’s stern hands dragging him toward the exit, and the cold leather seats of the awaiting van.

The sun shines cheerfully overhead, and butterflies flitter through the sidewalk, gracing planters flush with springtime blossoms. The beauty of the scene taunts him. Every centimeter that the world continues to turn is wrong. 

The manager doesn’t say anything to him the entire ride and the silence is unbearably awkward. Instinctively, Donghyuck jams his hand into his front pocket only to find a glob of lint. _Right._ He entertains the idea of asking for his phone back, but his manager’s stony expression already tells him what the answer would be. But it doesn’t matter. What has been seen cannot be forgotten.

His cheeks are sticky and his lips taste salty by the time he has toed off his shoes by the front door. He’s ready to flop onto the couch, but someone is already there.

“Why are you here? Don’t you have practice?” He means to sound annoyed, but it comes out as a whimper.

Mark gestures unceremoniously to the box of tissues beside him on the cushion. “I have the flu.”

“Why aren’t you in bed in your own dorm? You should be resting.” Donghyuck protests, because Mark shouldn’t have to deal with Donghyuck’s bullshit, much less when he’s sick. 

“I was resting but when I heard you’d be coming back I figured I’d join you. Misery loves company, right?” Mark pats the space next to him, and Donghyuck feels the stinging feeling of tears budding behind his eyelids. It’s embarrassing how much he has cried today.

“Right.” He chokes out, bitterly plopping onto the couch and jostling the tissue box onto its side. “I’m guessing you know about the thread.”

Mark nods and blows his nose, before stuffily asking, “No offense, but why do you care so much about it, though?”

“Why wouldn’t I?” Donghyuck laughs wetly.

“Because it’s not true? You’re an important part of NCT, and everyone who’s important knows that.”

“Mark, they have pictures of me throwing up into a bush.” Donghyuck is exasperated, how can Mark be so naive? There’s a reason why no one wanted Donghyuck to see it. 

“I’m sorry that we fought that day.” Mark looks guilty, and Donghyuck hates that he’s the reason for it.

“Don’t blame yourself. That’s not why I was sick.” Donghyuck can feel some of his walls coming down. Mark has always had that effect on him.

“I’m still sorry.”

“You don’t need to apologize, it was my fault. I have a problem, Mark.” It’s the truth, because even in this vulnerable moment, Donghyuck wants nothing more than to shove the leftover pizza in the fridge down his throat. Remorse and shame envelops him like a blanket of spiny flowers. It’s a familiar heaviness, but it stings. 

“Is your problem like what the thread was saying?” Mark chews his lip nervously.

Donghyuck almost smiles at how even after everything, Mark is still so innocent. “I’m not on heroin if that’s what you’re asking.” It’s ironic, though. In a way he _is_ an addict. 

“Oh.” Mark frowns, a deep sadness in his eyes. “I think I get it.”

Donghyuck hates how Mark dances around the subject, but Donghyuck also can’t bring himself to attach a name to the problem. Maybe he still is in denial of what it actually is. 

“Promise me you won’t tell anyone.” Donghyuck begs even though he doesn’t even know if Mark actually knows what the problem is.

“I can’t promise that.” 

“You can, because this is personal, and it’s not yours to tell.” Donghyuck snaps, but his harsh tone fades to a whisper. “Please.”

“Only if you promise to try to take better care of yourself. That’s all I ask.” Mark pleads. He has always had a soft spot for Donghyuck.

“I promise.” Donghyuck wishes he meant it.

“Alright.” Mark breathes, gathering his words. “Hyuck, what is this all about? Is it for Dream’s comeback? Are you having family problems?”

“I don’t want to talk about this anymore.” Donghyuck curls in on himself. All of his reasons are vain and stupid. Does he even have a reason anymore? Either way, Mark _can’t_ know.

“If you won’t talk to anyone else, can’t you at least talk to me? We can—“

Donghyuck cuts Mark off with a faint sob that bubbles up from his chest. “ _Please_. I don’t want to fight. Can you just hold me for a little bit?”

“I’ll get you sick.”

“I don’t care.”

“Okay.” Mark murmurs, gentle arms embracing him as though he’s something special, a precious gem. It makes Donghyuck’s heart ache, as Mark’s touch begins to morph into blinding pain. Donghyuck screws his eyes shut, trying to hold back tears that have nothing to do with the thread.

Mark has always been oblivious.

(And Donghyuck has always been in love.)

—

No one mentions the thread explicitly, but it’s obvious that they feel bad. They stroke Donghyuck’s hair when he falls asleep on the couch and no one yells at him when he’s off beat during practice. SM releases a statement about the thread, gets it taken down, and the world seems to forget about it. 

Weeks pass, but Donghyuck doesn’t forget. He feels it in the way his spine juts out, he obsesses over it in the scathing words that are branded against the back of his eyelids, he knows it in the pitiful glances thrown his way.

His only comfort is food, whether in heaps or morsels. It’s his escape. Everything is easier when he’s starving, a syrupy smoothness coating the sharp edges of life that pierce his skin. He finds comfort in feeling fragile.

Donghyuck wonders how it got to this point.

—

Donghyuck tries at first, to be better, to reassure Mark, but his efforts soon fade into a promising facade. He just doesn’t want Mark to worry about him anymore. He means well, but sadly, the road to hell is paved with good intentions.

It’s raining outside and he wants nothing more than to curl up in his softest robe and feel bad for himself, but he has a day packed full of vocal lessons and dance practice. 

“Are you ready to go?” Doyoung pokes his head into the doorway of Donghyuck’s room. 

“Yeah, thanks for waiting for me.” Donghyuck follows Doyoung to the front door, jamming his feet into converse that he hasn’t untied since he bought them.

“Come on, you’re barely under the umbrella, stop acting like I have the plague.” Doyoung pulls Donghyuck closer as they walk to the studio down the street. 

“Thanks.” Donghyuck replies shakily, too worn out for sass. The storm has stolen his energy today and the wet wind is chilling him to the bone.

“You’re shivering.” Doyoung purses his lips, grabbing Donghyuck’s hand. “Your fingers are really cold. Have some soup later, okay? You might be getting sick.”

“We’re almost there, I’ll warm up inside. Stop mothering me.” Donghyuck bristles. Doyoung doesn’t get a chance to respond, because as soon as they step into the lobby, Taeil greets them.

“Hey, guys. I just got done with vocal lessons, so I’m heading out.” Taeil smiles, but his expression looks strained when he turns to Donghyuck. “Are you feeling alright, Donghyuck?”

“Yes.” Donghyuck replies, the darkness at the edge of his vision disagrees. The walk from the dorms is a familiar one, but lately, even standing from a chair is a daunting task.

“Alright.” Taeil ruffles his hair, but his eyes look sad. “You should go to your vocal lesson. Take care of yourself, Donghyuck.”

“Um, thanks? You too?” Donghyuck doesn’t mean to, but his words sound uncertain and garbled. It’s an awkwardness that he thought was unique to middle school verbal English exams.

“See you later, Taeil.” Doyoung starts to walk away, but Taeil grabs him by the wrist.

“Actually, I need to talk to you about something, Doyoung. If you don’t mind.” Taeil then faces Donghyuck, “He’ll meet you there.”

“Whatever.” Donghyuck shrugs and tries not to stumble down the marble hallway. They’re probably talking about him, but he’s more worried about the nausea settling in his gut. 

He has a few minutes to spare, so he shoulders his way into the bathroom. He has felt sick more frequently lately, bile bubbling in his stomach even when he doesn’t want it to. For some reason this makes him feel somewhat panicky, has he completely fucked up his body forever? Will he always feel this shitty? 

Probably. 

Donghyuck slips into a stall and leans over it. He has learned that it’s better to stand and let gravity do some of the work for him. The strawberries that he had for breakfast come up frighteningly easy. He pulls a water bottle out of the pocket of his bag and guzzles water until it comes back up. Soon enough, bile appears in the toilet, but it seems too red to just be from the berries and his mouth tastes sour and metallic. 

He decides that the blood in his mouth is just from scraping his throat. Although the way his heart aches taunts him with the threat of cardiac arrest. 

It's a reality that he’s afraid to confront.

“Donghyuck? Are you okay?” Yuta is sweating through his white muscle tee, probably having come from the gym. He looks lean in all the ways that Donghyuck hates him for.

“I’m fine.” Donghyuck turns off the sink, thanking god in every language he knows that he rinsed the blood from his mouth _before_ Yuta came into the bathroom.

“Don’t take this the wrong way, but you look awful.” 

_“Gee, thanks.”_ Donghyuck rolls his eyes, aggressively tearing a paper towel from the dispenser. He straightens his jacket and runs a hand through his hair like nothing happened and he _isn’t_ freaking out about the blood in the toilet.

“Should you even be here? You look like you’re about to keel over.” Yuta laughs, but it sounds forced. “I’m not in the mood to play catch the falling idol.”

“I’m fine, thanks.” Donghyuck is leaning against the counter more than he’d like to admit. 

Yuta says something else, but Donghyuck is struggling to keep his eyes open. Distantly, he notices that he can barely hear anything besides the ringing in his ears. Apathy overwhelms him as he grows increasingly detached from his body. Is this even happening?

“I feel like I’m going to throw up again.” He slurs. The only thing keeping him upright is the counter. 

_“Shit.”_ Yuta hisses, darting forward to grab Donghyuck under his arms when he begins to slump forward. Yuta is not quick enough, and the counter clobbers Donghyuck on the back of his head.

“Ouch.” Donghyuck groans.

“This is what I was worried about!” Yuta sounds like he’s about to lose it. “God, you’re like a feather.” 

“Thank you.” Donghyuck hums, and he’s not sure if he’s referring to being caught or being called light. Perhaps both. 

“Who did you come with?” Yuta gently sits him against the tiled wall. 

“Doyoung?” Donghyuck isn’t completely sure. Was it Taeil? He remembers seeing both of them.

“I’ll call him.” Yuta pulls out his phone. 

“I’m tired.” Donghyuck closes his eyes. 

“Stay awake. You hit your head.” Yuta pinches him.

“It wasn’t even hard, though.” Donghyuck whines. “I barely feel it.”

“Doyoung, I think Donghyuck fainted or something, and I don’t know what to do.” Yuta’s lip is trembling with every word. “We’re in the bathroom next to the elevator. You can bring Taeil, but _please,_ come quickly.” 

Yuta slips his phone back in his pocket and kneels in front of Donghyuck. “Hang in there, Hyuck.”

—

When Doyoung and Taeil show up, it’s clear that they’re just as clueless in the situation as Yuta. Begrudgingly, Yuta calls their manager. Even in his state of delirium, Donghyuck knows that this is _bad._

Morosely, he sips on a bottle of orange juice from the vending machine as the manager calls the higher ups for a decision. Yet, by some miracle, Donghyuck doesn’t go to the hospital. Despite Yuta nearly begging their manager to call an ambulance, it’s decided that a company doctor will check Donghyuck out first, to determine if further treatment is necessary. 

The doctor that sees him in their dorm is a kindly older man with deep set smile lines, named Dr. Choi Hyunjoon. Donghyuck can’t help but like him.

“Nice to meet you, Donghyuck.” Dr. Choi adjust his glasses and rights his clipboard. “Your manager said that you collapsed and hit your head. First, I’d like to assess if your fall resulted in a concussion.”

“It didn’t.” Donghyuck replies firmly.

The man laughs good naturedly. “Just humor me, okay?” 

“Fine.” Donghyuck sighs, and the next thing he knows, a light is being shined in his face, while the doctor asks him a rapid succession of questions. It catches him off guard, and he isn’t able to formulate his answers, the truth escaping through his teeth. By the rapid scribbling that follows some of his answers, he knows he has said the wrong thing.

Dr. Choi tests his reflexes, among other things, before listening to his heart and taking his blood pressure. Lastly, he asks Donghyuck to step on the scale, but doesn’t let him see the number. _Strange._ It’s a thorough exam, the type which he hasn’t had since before entering the company. 

“Here’s the good news: you don’t seem to have a concussion.” Dr. Choi lowers his glasses and sits across from Donghyuck. “I’m going to give it to you straight. The bad news is that you’re severely underweight and your blood pressure and heart rate are much lower than the acceptable range. I can only test so much in a dorm, but I suspect you’re also suffering from vitamin deficiencies and electrolyte imbalance.”

Donghyuck gulps. He doesn’t like where this is going.

“Do you know what I’m getting at?”

“I’m not sure” Donghyuck rasps.

“Are you familiar with eating disorders?”

“I don’t have an eating disorder.” But it sounds like a lie even to his own ears. How can he be so sick that he isn’t sick enough? It’s a thought that’s difficult for even his twisted mind to make sense of.

“Then to what do you attribute your recent weight loss?” 

“I don’t know.” Donghyuck mutters. “I’ve just been busy lately with the comeback and stuff.”

“So, you’re forgetting to eat?” The doctor doesn’t seem to buy it. 

“I guess.” Donghyuck feels trapped, after this morning he almost considers telling the doctor about the blood at least. He’s scared, but at the same time he feels gross and embarrassed. How do you even talk about that? 

“Here’s what we’ll do. You’ll work on _remembering_ to eat, and I’ll meet with you again in six weeks. If your health isn’t improved by then, we’ll go from there.” Dr. Choi pauses for a moment, seemingly gathering his thoughts. “Also, start taking a multivitamin.”

“Okay.” Donghyuck sighs.

“Take care, Donghyuck.”

“You too.” Donghyuck bows tersely, his lips taut. 

The moment the door shuts, Donghyuck lets out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding, because that was _fucking close._ He toeing a strange line between acknowledging he has a problem and deluding himself with a false narrative; it’s a gray area fueled by self hatred and constantly feeling overwhelmed.

He just doesn’t want to feel like this anymore.

—

To say that Donghyuck is stressed would be an understatement. The stress sneaks up on him until he’s drowning in it. He didn’t expect to be stressed about Dream’s comeback, but he is.

He needs to be quicker, stronger, better, and he’s failing completely. He’s behind on dance practices and voice lessons, he can barely get through the day without wanting to pass out, and he’s an emotional wreck. His breakdown the other day was one that cannot be readily forgotten.

On top of all this, he has to gain weight—kilos of fat that he neither wants nor needs. It’s a balancing act that can only end in catastrophe.

“Donghyuck!” Jaehyun waves from across the cafeteria, gesturing to the seat next to him. 

Self-consciously, Donghyuck glances down at his tray. He was a bowl of vegetable stew and cup of yogurt. Excluding his binges, it’s more than he has eaten in one sitting for a while. Is it a normal amount? It has been so long since he has known what normal felt like. 

Subconsciously, he knows that he chose easy to purge foods, even though he’s supposed to be gaining weight.

“Hey, Jaehyun.” Donghyuck says as he sits down. “What’s up?”

“Just the usual—y’know practice and everything. I’m thinking of watching a movie later, though.” 

“Which one?” Donghyuck hesitantly eats a spoonful of yogurt. 

“I haven’t decided yet, you can join me if you’d like.” 

“I’d like that.” Donghyuck smiles.

“I’m in the mood for something with action, maybe Spiderman or something? What do you—“ Jaehyun abruptly stops mid-sentence.

“What is it?” Donghyuck asks nervously, putting down his spoon, suddenly feeling very self-conscious.

“Did you get in a fight?” 

Donghyuck blinks. “No?”

“How’d you fuck up your hand? Your knuckles have these weird marks on them.” Jaehyun narrows his eyes. “You should get them checked out.”

“It’s nothing.” Donghyuck quickly hides his hands in his pockets.

“Doesn’t look like nothing. Are they recent?.” Jaehyun reaches across the table to fish out Donghyuck’s hand, but he’s too slow. Donghyuck slides out of reach. 

“I had a ferret growing up.” Mentally, Donghyuck kicks himself, because _really?_ A _ferret?_ He has never been a great liar, but this is straight up embarrassing.

“A ferret.” Jaehyun deadpans. 

“Yes.” Donghyuck grits his teeth. It sounds stupidly ridiculous. But he can’t take it back, admitting to lying would be even worse. 

“Real funny. You must think I’m an idiot.” Jaehyun laughs sarcastically. “Cut the bullshit, what’s going on.”

“None of your business. Take it or leave it.” Donghyuck huffs. He can feel his walls rising, but part of him doesn’t want to always be on the defensive, part of him wants to be cared for.

“Stop being an asshole and just tell me.” Jaehyun is starting to raise his voice. Somehow Donghyuck has managed to provoke one of the nicest and calmest people that he knows. 

“You don’t need to know everything about me.” Donghyuck nearly snarls. Thankfully, the cafeteria is crowded and loud today, so no one pays them much attention.

Jaehyun pinches the bridge of his nose and takes a deep breath. For a moment, Donghyuck wonders if he’s pushed Jaehyun to his breaking point. It makes him strangely excited, he wants Jaehyun to yell at him, to punch him, to fight him. Donghyuck wants to _hurt._

Instead, Jaehyun’s expression morphs into something cruel. “You’re right. I don’t need to know everything about you.” He replies coldly, leaving the table before Donghyuck can even blink. Somehow it hurts more than a fight would have. He feels like shit.

Unfeeling, Donghyuck throws out the rest of his food. He’s shoving the handle of a plastic knife down his throat before he knows what he's doing. He’s smarter now. As he heaves into porcelain bile and blood dribbles from his lips. He knows he needs to stop. But he doesn’t care—he needs this. 

—

Despite giving up on being better, Donghyuck maintains his weight. Binges on Monday, cries on Tuesday, starves on Wednesday. He has the illusion of health without reaping any of the benefits. Maybe he doesn’t deserve to feel good?

It’s hard to eat. It’s hard not to eat. No matter what he does it’s futile; he’ll always end up in the same hopeless place. 

The comeback is rocky. He can’t keep up with the dances, his voice cracks on high notes, and in every fiber of his being he knows that he isn’t worthy of his place on stage. It’s not helping that everyone around him is still concerned. It’s also not helping that Jaehyun is ignoring him like it’s his job. What’s most painful is how Mark just won’t leave him alone. It’s evidently out of worry, but Mark’s casual affection is a branding iron, scorching him with the seal of unrequited love. It’s exhausting.

There has been uproar amongst fans about his appearance. He loves it. 

He’s not losing any more weight but he guesses that he looks fragile enough to raise concern. It partially surprises him—despite the vertebrae that jut from his spine and the narrowness of his wrists—he doesn’t feel small, thin, or worthy. At least no one is accusing him of being a drug addict anymore.

When Donghyuck monitors the comeback stage for Dream, he’s shocked at how horrible he looks. His face is ashen yet bloated, and it’s obvious that his stage outfit is being held together by sheer willpower. Fabric bags in all the wrong places and pulls in all the others. His hair looks flat and lifeless, tresses strategically coiffed to hide where his hair has fallen out. He’s not pretty or dainty, he’s sick and tired. He’s worn to the bone, and he’s exhausted.

He overhears whispers of how thin he has become when his members think he isn’t listening. It’s been easy for Donghyuck to lurk in the shadows lately. 

He hates how he _craves_ these comments. It’s not about losing weight, or being thin. He doesn’t have a certain number in mind anymore. It’s about being cared for and protected, it’s about worrying strangers, it’s about scaring his friends, it’s about people _seeing_ how broken is.

It’s ironic in a way, how he has done nothing but ruin himself in every way. He has definitely seen something about his situation on the more depressing side of twitter. Destroying his body for a peace of mind he never got? Sounds about right. 

Donghyuck realizes that he’s becoming the textbook definition of a wet blanket when he starts making dumb decisions just to worry others. Purging where he knows he can be heard, blatantly not eating during meals, bingeing with others in the dorm. He knows it’s unfair to them, but what about him? Life hasn’t been fair to him in a long time, and he’s tired of hurting alone.

Surprisingly, what causes Taeyong to intervene is when he starts to vape. It’s almost funny; Donghyuck can sleep through practice, skip meals, distance himself in every way possible, but vaping is where the line is drawn.

“What the hell is this?” Taeyong storms into his room one day, plain vape pinched between his fingers.

“Thanks, I was looking for that.” Donghyuck holds out his hand, but Taeyong slaps it away.

“Not funny. You’re killing yourself.” 

“Yeah, right.” Donghyuck laughs snarkily, snatching the accused item away from Taeyong. “Everyone vapes, it’s fine.

“This is serious, can’t you be mature for once? You’re ruining your health.”

“Calm down, it doesn’t even have nicotine in it.” Of course, it’s not good for him, but it’s no worse than any of his other unhealthy habits. And he likes it. Flavored smoke is something of disordered dreams. 

“If you can’t understand how bad it is for your health, can you at least understand how if it ever got out you’d be in so much trouble.”

“So what?” Donghyuck takes a drag from the pen, just to be an asshole. “You want a hit or something? Loosen up.”

“Excuse me?” Taeyong’s eyes are wide with shock.

“You heard me. I don’t give a fuck, I’m an adult and I can do what I want.” 

“You think the fans would find this _cute?_ You’re being disrespectful and irresponsible.”

“I know.” Donghyuck sighs, sweet smelling smoke filling the space between them.

“Not to mention that this goes against management’s rules, and probably even your contract. What? Was one drug scandal not enough for you?”

“I’m _trying,_ Taeyong. You know things haven’t been that easy lately.” Donghyuck almost laughs, because otherwise he’ll cry. Taeyong thinks it’s been hard for Donghyuck and that’s without knowing that Donghyuck can’t keep his fingers out of his throat.

“Sorry for snapping at you, I know I crossed a line. I’m just worried.” Taeyong doesn’t seem to care about the smoke, and gets closer to Donghyuck. “Of course I don’t like that you’re vaping, but that’s not my main concern.”

The conversation feels like deja vu to Donghyuck.

“You’ve been sick for a while, haven’t you? You’re too young to be in such poor health.” Taeyong frowns. 

“I know.” Donghyuck means it to be a smart quip, but it comes out as a shuddering whimper. “The doctor gave me a plan to follow. I’ll be better soon.” The doctor gave him a _warning,_ not a plan, and he most certainly hasn’t been following it.

Taeyong ignores him, probably to spare Donghyuck the embarrassment of acknowledging his lies. “Goodnight, Hyuck.” 

Donghyuck flushes his vape down the toilet and screams into his pillow until his throat is raw. Nothing matters. He was a fool to try to fix the void. Whether with smoke, food, or attention, there is nothing that can fill the cracks of someone who is broken.

—

The pancakes are perfectly round and golden brown. Lovingly, Donghyuck sets them on a platter for his members. He has always been good at cooking, but lately he has been obsessed with it. He gets sick satisfaction from making his friends eat the foods that he doesn’t allow himself. 

It’s still early, but soon hungry people start to crowd around the stove. 

“Give me some space, they’re not ready yet.” Donghyuck smiles, shooing Johnny and Doyoung away with his spatula. 

“Sorry, they just smell really good. The last time I had pancakes like this was at an American-style diner in Itaewon.” Johnny leans against the counter, and plucks a strawberry from the bowl. 

“How did you even know that I was cooking? You literally sleep like a rock. What, did you _smell_ them or something?”

“You know what they say, ‘Where there’s pancakes there’s an American.’” Johnny winks.

“Shut up, no one says that.” Doyoung laughs. “I woke him up since I know that he likes them.”

Soon enough, the pancakes are platted and adorned with strawberries and whipped cream. Johnny and Doyoung bicker over whether or not the pancakes need syrup if they already have other toppings. Donghyuck nibbles on some leftover strawberries. He’s feeling _wild_ so he even has a bit of the whipped cream on the side. 

“How are you feeling, Donghyuck?” Johnny asks.

“I’m alright. I’ve been taking a multivitamin which is good, I guess.” Donghyuck shrugs.

“You don’t feel sick or anything?” Doyoung purses his lips.

“No. Why do you ask?” Why does it seem that every conversation Donghyuck has goes like this.

“You haven’t even eaten anything.” 

“I ate.” Donghyuck replies defensively.

“Strawberries don’t count.”

“I ate while I was cooking. _God,_ why do you even care? You’re not my mother.” Donghyuck huffs, but grabs a plate of pancakes from the counter. He shoves one in his mouth. “There, _happy now?”_

“Very.” Johnny replies with a smile that is far too patient. 

At some point, Taeyong joins them at the table, but Donghyuck hardly notices, he’s too busy cramming bites of syrupy sweetness down his throat. He eats the pancakes until they’re cold and soggy. He knows that they’ll be impossible to purge, but at this point he doesn’t care. 

“Aren’t you full?” Taeyong asks, but not unkindly.

It’s a question that shouldn’t be hard. But it is. It also makes Donghyuck feel helplessly chagrined. He’s so embarrassed and ashamed. 

“I don’t know.” Donghyuck whispers, staring at his lap. He can’t think straight.

“What was that?”

“I’ll be right back.” Donghyuck nearly leaps out of his chair and hurries to the bathroom. 

He paces back and forth on the tiled floor and tugs at his hair. He can’t breathe. 

It’s almost Pavlovian, as soon as he looks at the toilet acid is rushing up his throat. He spits into the toilet nothing more than crumbs. It infuriates him. Because _fuck Doyoung_ for making him eat. 

He knows that bready stuff isn’t safe or easy to purge (not that any food really is), and it would probably be better to chug a thermos of laxative tea, even though he’s convinced that senna is destroying his intestines. But Donghyuck needs to get rid of it and he needs to _now._

He shoves his fingers down his throat, then he uses a toothbrush, but nothing works. He chugs warm water from the tap. And tries again. It doesn’t feel real, it’s as though he’s not even in his own body, but rather only spectating through his eyes.

Finally, _finally,_ a pathetic half digested lump of dough plops into the toilet. It almost suffocates him on the way up, as he chokes around it.

Something animalistic and raw possesses him, as he chokes around his fingers. Soon, more chunks of something brown and repulsive splash into the water. Some of the vomit falls into the palm of his hand. He isn’t empty enough. He wonders what’s wrong with him as he swallows his vomit from his hand. It does the trick, he regurgitates it as the final clump spews from his lips in an acidic gush. He’s so disgusted with himself, he’d throw up again, if he could.

Eventually, as he’s purging water—just in case—a streak of blood appears in the toilet. It’s _a lot._ It’s too much for Donghyuck to convince himself it’s just from scraping his throat. 

Suddenly, he becomes aware of the stabbing pain in his chest and it feels like an apple is stuck in his esophagus. He can hear his rapid heartbeat through the blood rushing in his ears. He has never felt so afraid. This isn’t what he wanted.

  
  


“Donghyuck?” Johnny calls from outside the door. 

Against every instinct that tells him to hide, Donghyuck hurries to unlock the door. Johnny is standing there looking tall and clueless. Donghyuck wraps his arms around Johnny desperately, he can barely stand and he’s scared. All he wants is to be held.

“Did you throw up?” Johnny asks hesitantly. 

Donghyuck nods, but it’s almost imperceptible with his face smushed into Johnny’s torso.

“I guess you overdid it. I almost did, too. But what is self control when it comes to pancakes right?” 

Donghyuck wants to tell Johnny that he’s dying, or that he might be having a heart attack. He knows he _should_ tell someone. But instead, all that comes out are tears that soak the front of Johnny’s shirt.

—

Donghyuck is sick. He understands that now. It’s the day after what he prays was just a false alarm and not an actual heart attack, and he wants to do it all again. Maybe not the almost dying in the toilet part, but he wants to eat and he wants to purge. It’s that simple. Not because he wants to, but because he can and he needs to. It’s the only thing he gets up for in the morning. It’s the only thing holding him together.

There’s something darkly euphoric about receiving the pain he deserves. Refreshing in the way that it fights some of his wrongs, just a bit. It’s bloody knuckles and bruised knees and scars he wishes would last a little longer. It’s been his escape for a long time. 

It makes _sense._ His own painful paradise. 

  
  


> “Dying
> 
> Is an art, like everything else.
> 
> I do it exceptionally well.”

Lady Lazarus,

Sylvia Plath 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m not completely satisfied with this chapter, but I’m proud of how I portrayed conflict between the characters, since it’s something I struggle with. 
> 
> Also, I’m not sure why I put vaping in here, maybe to really show how insatiable and crazed eating disorders make you, where you’re willing to do anything. And how they rob you of your innocence and peace of mind. I have vaped before (never consistently) and while I’m not anti-vaping, I don’t encourage it I guess. I know that certain boy group members sometimes get hate for vaping which I find mildly ridiculously, but I digress. Everyone is entitled to their own opinion, after all.
> 
> Hope you liked this chapter, I look forward to posting the next one soon!


	4. Runaway

Donghyuck has never spent that much time with Jungwoo, but looking back he doesn’t know why. More and more he has realized how wonderful Jungwoo is. Jungwoo is timid and quiet where Donghyuck is loud and crass, but maybe that’s why they fit.

They’re at Jungwoo’s favorite park in Seoul. It’s a bit of a hike from the dorms but it’s worth it. Secluded but not isolated, with a sizable pond and a plethora of honking geese. It’s perfect. 

Maybe it’s the sun smiling down on him, or the feeling of safety that Jungwoo radiates, or the fact that today has been a generally good day, but something is making Donghyuck want nothing more than to spill his most well kept secrets. 

**“** Jungwoo?” Donghyuck asks tentatively, before he can word vomit his angst.

“Yeah?”

“Do you remember that day in the car? When we drove past the pride parade?”

“I remember.” Jungwoo’s answer is curt, but his posture is slouched and relaxed. 

It makes Donghyuck nervous, but the words spill from his mouth on their own accord. “Why didn’t anyone say something? Why didn’t you say something? That driver was being an ass.” Jungwoo has never seemed to be the bigot type, but Donghyuck is no stranger to how well ugliness can be hidden and he immediately regrets asking. 

“I don’t know. Maybe because it didn’t seem worth it. Maybe because we were scared to. Or, at least, I was scared to.” Jungwoo admits quietly.

Well, at least Jungwoo isn’t homophobic. But still, there are so many things that Donghyuck wants to say, so many questions he wants to ask. Instead, he takes a bite of a tangerine from the humble picnic they packed. “These tangerines are good. Did you get the Jeju ones again?”

“Only the best for you.” Jungwoo smiles fondly and ruffles his hair.

They stop at a cafe on their way back. It’s another one of Jungwoo’s favorite hideaways when he wants to escape the hectic life of being an idol. Donghyuck is honored to be brought to a place so special. They sink into cushioned chairs beneath hanging pots of ferns and ivy. It’s still warm outside but they each order tea: chamomile for Jungwoo and mint for Donghyuck. 

Donghyuck tries to relax and forget about their conversation at the park, but he can’t, and it nags at him relentlessly.

“How’s your tea?” Jungwoo’s voice knocks him out of his stupor. 

“Huh? Oh, good, thanks.” 

“Mine is good, too.  _ Thanks for asking.”  _ Jungwoo flashes him a teasing smile.

“Sorry, why do you like chamomile so much? Doesn’t it make you tired?” 

“Hey, don’t judge my tea, it’s soothing.” Jungwoo paws at his shoulder. 

“I still can’t stop thinking about what we talked about before.” Donghyuck blurts out.

“Me either.” Jungwoo takes a sip of tea before flattening his lips into a harsh, thin line. “I should have said something that day.”

“It’s fine,  _ I get it.  _ You didn’t want anyone to think you were gay.” Donghyuck’s mouth tastes bitter. 

“That was part of it. Since I’ve only told Jaehyun and Doyoung.”

“What?” Donghyuck asks dumbly, setting down his teacup so hard that it spills onto the wooden table.

“I thought you knew I was gay? Isn’t that why you were disappointed that I didn’t say anything?” Jungwoo frowns.

“No—it’s because—I mean—congratulations?” Donghyuck wheezes. He is not equipped nor prepared for this. 

“You didn’t know? Well, surprise, I guess.” Jungwoo shrugs and Donghyuck can’t understand why he’s not freaking out.

“How are you so calm about this?”

“Because it’s not a big deal. I know that you aren’t homophobic so, it’s fine.” Jungwoo reaches over and steals a sip of Donghyuck’s tea. Immediately, he grimaces. “Ugh, why do you like this?”

Donghyuck’s brain short circuits. “I’m gay, too. I think. Oh my god, I’ve never said that before. Please don’t tell anyone—“

“Shhh.” Jungwoo cuts him off and places a warm hand on top of his. “It’s okay. I love you and I am so proud of you.” 

Donghyuck bites his lip, holding back tears.  _ It’s okay _ , he’s not alone anymore _.  _

—

Donghyuck doesn’t think about Mark for a while. It’s not like he’s gotten good at ignoring his feelings, it’s just that he’s more concerned with other things—such as not going into cardiac arrest during practice or if making it up the stairs without passing out. It’s an escape, albeit not a great one.

But his feelings soon resurge, perhaps sparked by his conversation with Jungwoo. What was once agape endearment is replaced by manic infatuation. He’s jealous every time someone pats Mark on the back, or sits near him on the sofa. Donghyuck both wants to be the only one to touch Mark and the only one to receive that much love. He knows it’s ridiculous, he doesn’t own Mark and he doesn’t deserve to be cared for. 

It’s easy for him to stop eating again. It doesn’t make sense, but for some reason even the smallest moments of adversity feel paramount. He doesn’t need to have a good reason to suffer, he’d do it anyway. 

He’s not who he used to be. 

At least his doctor never remembers to return for a follow-up visit.

—

Donghyuck should’ve seen it coming. The whispers behind his back, sets of eyes filled with worry. If his members are going to go to this length, they may as well get balloons and a cake.

“Is this a fucking intervention?” Donghyuck thinks it’s amusing. They’re sitting on the couch and rug in a pseudo prayer circle, probably with a script prepared of reassuring affirmations and everything. 

Eight sets of eyes watch him, but only Mark speaks. “Hyuck, please. Sit down.”

“No, thanks. I’m good.” But before Donghyuck can make his escape, Johnny grabs him by the elbow and drags him to the couch.

“This isn’t an intervention, we just happen to be collectively worried.” Johnny says.

“Bullshit.” Donghyuck mutters.

Taeyong clears his throat awkwardly. “Would anyone like to start?” 

“I just want it to be known that I do not support this and think it’s a terrible idea.” Jungwoo says. 

“Not helping, Jungwoo.” Taeyong sighs.

“I was actually the one to suggest this. I’m sorry, I hope you’re not mad, Hyuck.” Mark fiddles with the strings of his hoodie nervously as he looks at Donghyuck through his bangs.

It’s endearing in every way that hurts.

“So you all decided to ambush me? _Great.”_ Donghyuck folds his arms against his chest.

“This isn’t an ambush, we just want to help you.” Taeil says softly.

“What about what  _ I  _ want? I might be younger than you guys, but I’m still an adult. I can make my own decisions.” Anger surges to the surface, but Donghyuck swallows it down. “You guys know I don’t like it when you belittle me.”

“Donghyuck, you know that’s not what we’re trying to do.” Taeyong levels him with a commanding glare.

Donghyuck scoffs.

“Please, just listen to us.” Mark’s brows are taut, eyes big and worried. Donghyuck wants to both throttle and kiss him.

“Then say something.” 

Surprisingly, it’s Yuta that replies. “We think it would be best for you to sit out of promotions for the next comeback.”

“Excuse me?” Donghyuck laughs in disbelief.

“You’ve seemed a bit…  _ off?  _ So some time to rest and sort things out might help you.” Jaehyun says with a harried smile.

“No.” 

_ “No?”  _ Mark looks shocked, as though he thought Donghyuck would  _ willingly _ sit out of a comeback. 

“You heard me.”

“You’re  _ sick.  _ Don’t think we haven’t noticed that you can barely get through practices anymore.” Johnny has never been one to beat around the bush.

“I’m fine.” Donghyuck wants to crawl into a hole. He’s embarrassed and exposed. All he can do is deny. 

“Donghyuck, please. I’m so scared for you. I heard you the other day after lunch.” Mark’s voice is shaky and meek. “And that’s what you were doing in the park, weren’t you?” 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He doesn’t understand why he can’t let himself be cared for. Isn’t this what he wanted? 

Mark ignores him. “I feel so  _ stupid.  _ All the signs were there, but I just kept hoping that it was something else. You told me you were okay, and I believed you.  _ I’m such an idiot.”  _

“And whose fault is that?” Donghyuck sneers. “Either way, it’s none of your fucking business.”

“Hey, let’s all calm down.” Taeyong says placatingly.

It only infuriates Donghyuck further, because he didn’t ask for this. “I’ll calm down when you guys stop trying to control me. You can’t kick me out of the comeback.”

“I might not be able to, but I’m not above bringing this to management if it gets any worse.” Taeyong says firmly.

_ “Any worse and he’ll be dead.”  _ Doyoung mutters.

“Shut up, Doyoung.” Taeyong hisses, before turning to face Donghyuck again. “But instead, I’ll give you a warning.” 

“I don’t want your fucking warning.” The room is silent.

“You have a problem, Donghyuck. I’m just trying to—“ 

Donghyuck interrupts him with a shout. “Say it! Fucking hell, stop acting so coy and use your words. What’s my  _ problem _ , huh?” 

“Why don’t you tell me.” Taeyong replies evenly, unaffected by Donghyuck’s anger.

Donghyuck cracks. He’s always made to feel stupid and villainous. He doesn’t need this. 

“I’m done.” Donghyuck‘s voice catches. He’s not going to cry in front of them. He rushes out of the dorm before someone can stop him. It’s not until he’s on the street that he realizes he’s being followed.

“Hyuck! Wait!” Mark calls after him, hurrying to catch up.

“Leave me alone!” Donghyuck yanks his arm out of Mark’s grip.

“What’s your deal, man?” Mark pulls him into a dingy alley between towering buildings. “Just tell me, I won’t judge you. I promise.”

“Liar.” Donghyuck nearly growls. 

“Stop acting so immature.” Mark sounds exasperated. “Why are you doing this? Is this a hunger strike or something, do you want attention?”

_ “Attention?”  _ Donghyuck screeches. “You think I like starving myself?”

It’s silent for a moment, because  _ that’s it.  _ Donghyuck finally said it. 

Mark’s eyes soften for a moment, but quickly harden back to stone. “You make it seem that way.” 

“Don’t you understand that I fucking hate myself?” Donghyuck cries and shakes Mark by the shoulders. He’s really losing it.

“Why? Did someone call you fat?” Mark bites cruelly.

Donghyuck knows that Mark still fumbles with Korean, and even in English will speak without thinking, but it  _ hurts.  _ To have all his pain and anguish reduced to a stupid insult infuriates him. If it was because of something so easy, so fixable, he wouldn’t still be struggling. It unearths something vindictive and cruel within him, he wants to bleed and he wants to take everyone down with him.

“Shut the fuck up.” Donghyuck replies darkly.

“I will when you fix our friendship. I’m trying to be there for you, but you can’t get your head out of your ass. Do you even care how I feel?” Mark‘s voice cracks.

“Care how  _ YOU  _ feel!? I’m fucking in love with you and it hurts, idiot!” Donghyuck shoves Mark away from him.

“What?” Mark croaks, mouth hanging open in shock. 

It makes Donghyuck want to tear his own skin off.

He opens his mouth to say he didn’t mean it, or to say  _ anything  _ really. But the words die on his tongue.

He runs. 

—

The buildings and people blur together into a streak of gray. Donghyuck doesn’t stop running until he’s sure that no one is following him. It’s rather impressive that he’s even physically capable of running at this point, considering he has nothing but fumes in the tank, but frantic terror, desperation, and a dwindling survival instinct urge him forward. He’s lucky that it’s late into the evening, dark enough where he won’t be seen. 

He has nothing: no phone, no money, not even real shoes. His rubber house slippers are scuffed up and worse for wear after his mad dash. 

A sinking feeling sucker punches him in the gut. Because,  _ fuck.  _ Why did he say that? Why can’t he keep his damn mouth shut? 

Layer upon layer of regret and fear piles upon Donghyuck’s mind until he’s too disoriented to walk further. He plops down onto a bus station bench and brings his knees up to his chest. He’s cold, and tired, and hungry. He’s being forced out of the comeback, so what’s next? Will he be kicked out of NCT completely? The cherry on top is that he just ruined his friendship with Mark. 

Furiously, he scrubs at his eyes, trying to erase Mark’s shocked expression from his mind. He decides, then, that his life is essentially over. 

At least Dispatch might get a good story out of it.

A familiar feeling of heaviness and fatigue comes over him as he fights to stay conscious. He can hear his heartbeat in his head, but it’s slow, probably too slow. The wind ruffles his shirt and leaves icicles on his bones. Momentarily, he wonders if he’s going to die at this bus stop.

(A part of him hopes to.)

By the time he peels himself off the bench, hours have passed and the sky is black. His feet start to move and Donghyuck follows. 

He can barely stay upright and he can’t remember the last time he ate. For some reason, something that would’ve once sparked a sick thrill within him only makes him sad. 

He takes the long way back, stalling as long as he can from facing the unavoidable. Eventually, he finds himself facing a familiar door, and punches in the keycode. With a pleasant ding, the door unlocks and Donghyuck steps into the dorm. He’s not sure why he returned, since if he’s not going to be part of promotions, he serves no purpose. But at the same time, it’s not like he has anywhere else to go.

Even if Mark hates him, Donghyuck prays he didn’t tell anyone about his confession.

It’s quiet and dark, the only light on is in the kitchen, and Donghyuck is struck with a feeling of deja vu. 

He steps into the kitchen and his stomach churns with guilt when he finds Taeyong slumped over at the island, asleep on a stool which is teetering precariously. He must’ve been waiting for him to get back.

Donghyuck takes a step toward Taeyong, but the world seems to shift on its axis. He grips the counter with a clammy hand and tries to gain his bearings. Taeyong is no more than a few feet away but the distance feels staggeringly great.

Suddenly, the entire room seems to melt in on itself, tilting and sliding and collapsing. What is happening? 

He feels lightheaded and tingly, as though bugs are crawling beneath his skin. A weird fluttery feeling settles in his chest as his thoughts turn to mush and he can’t make sense of what’s happening. 

Taeyong’s face comes into view, expression frantic and terrified. Donghyuck can tell that he’s speaking but he can’t listen to what Taeyong is saying. Though he wants to erase the concern from Taeyong’s face, he  _ can’t  _ form the words. It’s scary, but in an exhaustingly numbing way.

A point just beyond Taeyong’s head transfixes Donghyuck as the ceiling becomes suddenly fascinating. 

**—**

Something distant but familiar tickles the back of Donghyuck’s mind and he struggles to focus his eyes.

“... Donghyuck?” A voice fades it’s way into his consciousness. 

“Donghyuck?” The voice is louder this time.

“Wuh?” He replies groggily, blinking furiously.

“Oh god, you’re back. Okay, an abulance will be here soon. I’ll text the other guys.” Taeyong is visibly harried as he kneels before him, and Donghyuck realizes that he’s laying on the couch. How did he get here?

Donghyuck frowns, he can’t really remember much of anything. Not just how he got there, but he has no clue what time it is, or even what day of the week it is.

“Why? What’s going on?” 

Taeyong faces him again and Donghyuck notices the tears on his cheeks. Why is he crying? “Something happened to you, Hyuck. Don’t you remember?”

Donghyuck shakes his head, he’s so confused. He feels exhausted and has a killer headache, but that’s not out of the ordinary. “What happened?”

“I don’t know, that’s why you’re going to the hospital.” Taeyong squeezes Donghyuck’s hand before worriedly typing on his phone. “The manager already called for an ambulance.”

Donghyuck nods. He feels weirdly complacent. It’s too hard to make decisions right now.

“Where’s everyone else?” 

“Johnny is in your room, and Mark is in the dorm upstairs. The rest of the guys are out.” 

“Why?” Donghyuck closes his eyes briefly. He’s  _ so tired. _

Taeyong bites his lip, brows taut. “You really don’t remember? You ran off today so they’re out looking for you. Some of us stayed here because we hoped you’d come back on your own.”

“Oh.” Donghyuck replies because nothing makes sense. Why can’t he remember anything? “I’m tired, can I sleep?”

“Yes—no— _ god,  _ I don’t know, I think you had a fucking seizure and I don’t know.” Taeyong buries his face in his hands and drags them down his face. 

Donghyuck is about to reply when the paramedics bring a stretcher through the front door. In a blur of hands and faces he is loaded onto a stretcher, and carried onto an awaiting ambulance. His manager comes with him, reassuring him that he’ll see the others later.

Donghyuck doesn’t care.

By the time he gets to the emergency room, his mind is slightly clearer, but still, the flurry of nurses and tests blend together into antiseptic-scented chaos.

A tube is shoved into is nose, and feels horrible when it slithers down his throat. Catheters are jabbed on the backs of his hands and he slowly starts to feel more like a science experiment than a person. A nurse with a clipboard asks him countless questions and Donghyuck knows he’s probably saying more than he should.

By the time a doctor sees him, his brain is a saturated lump of medical jargon that he doesn’t understand—or at least doesn’t understand the significance of.  _ Electrolyte imbalance, hypoglycemia, proteinuria,  _ and countless other strange terms trapeze through his mind in a clusterfuck of confusion.

—

It’s only after a night of restless sleep in his hospital bed that Donghyuck can recall the day before. He is angry, ashamed, and afraid. 

He can’t deal with it, not yet. 

Instead, he resigns himself to watching his heart rate on the monitor. It’s low, in the mid-forties, but when he sits up it jumps thirty beats. Probably not good.

When he brings it up to a nurse, her eyes bug and she rapidly types something into a laptop. That’s probably not good either.

“Good morning, Donghyuck. How are you feeling?” The doctor—Donghyuck can’t remember his name and feels bad asking—smiles pleasantly.

“Tired.” 

“I’d imagine so. You had a seizure yesterday, most likely linked to hypoglycemia.” The doctor then explains what type of seizure it was and the part of his brain it affected, but Donghyuck doesn’t care to listen. He just wants to get out of here. 

“Well, I’m better now. When can I go?” Donghyuck asks flatly.

“I’m sorry, Donghyuck, but I can’t discharge you yet. Based on your current health, it’s likely that you’d end up here again anyway.” 

“I’m an adult, I can leave if I want.” Not this shit again.

“Since you were deemed incapable to make medical decisions for yourself, I have permission from your family and company to hold you here until you’re in better health—or at the very least—stable. I do apologize.” The doctor begins to drone about just  _ how _ poor his health is and Donghyuck ignores him. 

Suddenly, two words catch his attention.  _ “Psychological evaluation?” _

“Yes.” The doctor replies patiently. “For your eating disorder.”

“I don’t—I’m—what?” Donghyuck stammers. “I’m fine.”

“When you were brought in last night, you were hours away from death. I’m surprised that you lasted this long considering your potassium and electrolyte levels, and how weak your heart is. You’re also at high risk for refeeding syndrome” The doctor replies. “So, no. You’re not fine.”

“I don’t have an eating disorder.” 

“Just looking at your physical symptoms, you display signs of both anorexia nervosa and bulimia nervosa. But of course, this can be further determined by a psychological inventory test.” 

  
  


“Whatever.” Donghyuck huffs and sinks into his pillows. Nothing matters anyway.

—

Donghyuck’s time in the hospital is a far cry from pleasant. He tears out his NG tube twice and his stay gets extended by a week when his vitals crash one afternoon. His room fills up with balloons, flowers, and stuffed bears. He hates them all. They make it too real.

His mom visits him and their tears turn into screams. The pestilence that pours from her mouth is no less poisonous than the venom that Donghyuck returns. She blames him, accuses him, and tears him to the ground until his heart rate spikes dramatically and the nurses have to escort her out.

After that, he refuses all visitors. 

At the end of his two week stay, he’s presented with two options: attend an inpatient program abroad or make the most of the meager help he can get in Korea. Of course, he chooses the latter option. 

His manager picks him up and brings him back to the dorm when Donghyuck refuses to stay at his parents’ house. The pills he got are heavy in his duffel bag and his thoughts weigh heavy on his mind. At least the dorm is empty when he gets back. 

He sits on the couch and it’s so normal that he can almost pretend that these past two weeks were just a horrifying fever dream. 

But of course, that’s not the truth. He knows he’s fatter from the feeding tube down his neck the past two weeks, in the same way that he knows he’ll hate his therapy session tomorrow. He also knows that everyone he loves hates him now. 

Or, if they don’t, they should.

—

Donghyuck avoids Mark like he’s making bank for it. He can’t handle that conversation right now. After the third time that Johnny tries to have a heart to heart with him, he starts to avoid everyone. 

He doesn’t even mean to, but there’s something within him that doesn’t want to be cared for or helped. It happens slowly, fading into darker shades of loneliness until everything is pitch black. 

It’s easy to isolate himself during the comeback. He stays at the dorms all day while everyone else gets to shine on stage. At least he doesn’t have to worry about another god forsaken intervention happening. 

Therapy does shit. Probably because he doesn’t do anything beyond stare at the wall during his scheduled hour. That’s not to say he doesn’t like his therapist though. Dr. Lim is young, bubbly, and fresh out of school. If Donghyuck had any personality left, they’d probably get along. She weighs him, tells him he’s not making progress, and he nods along to the advice she gives that he won’t actually take. Donghyuck likes to think it’s their thing. 

It’s too easy to fall back into bad habits. Though, perhaps they never left him. Everything just hurts a little bit less when he’s starving.

  
  


—

Donghyuck has said it before, but this time he means it: he really should’ve seen this coming. The comeback is coming to an end and it’s getting harder to avoid the people he literally lives with. He thought maybe Taeyong would be the first to corner him, or Jungwoo who has always been so sensitive and caring, or even Johnny—he does sleep with the guy two feet away. Any of those confrontations would’ve been rough but manageable.

Of  _ fucking  _ course it’s Mark, it’s always Mark. 

Donghyuck is trying to enjoy his depressing salad when Mark wordlessly sits across from him. They have the day off, so the dorms are otherwise empty. 

“When did you get here? I didn’t even hear you come in.” Donghyuck wills his pulse to calm. He’s not trying to have a heart attack in the damn kitchen.

“A few minutes ago.” Mark replies cooly, his head tilted downward, brow bone casting a shadow on his face that makes his expression unreadable. 

And, wow? Mark is speaking with him, so maybe things are okay after all.

But still, Donghyuck doesn’t let himself get his hopes up, all bad things come in threes and come to him. What does he even say? He settles on, “Okay.”

“Yeah.” Mark replies simply and awkwardly. 

Donghyuck nods and stabs a piece of iceberg lettuce with detest. Beside his salad sits one of the calorie-dense shakes from the case his therapist told his manager to buy. It’s essentially there for decoration, since he has no intention of drinking it.

“You’ve been avoiding us. You’ve been avoiding me.” Mark says. It’s not a question.

Donghyuck doesn’t have the nerve to reply.

“Donghyuck…” Mark trails off. Perhaps it is just the fluorescent lights, but he looks gaunt and overwhelmed. “We need to talk.”

Donghyuck places down his fork, with composure he didn’t know he even possessed, and braces himself for the worst. He doesn’t want to have this conversation, but this time, there is nowhere for him to run. 

“Then say something, Mark.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1) Thank you for all the wonderful comments!! They are my lifeblood
> 
> 2) I love Jungwoo 
> 
> Hope you enjoyed this chapter! I struggled the most with this one, because I didn’t want it to come across as cliche :)


	5. The Weight of the Sky

“I’m scared for you, Hyuck.” Mark says softly, looking at Donghyuck through his bangs. 

“I’m trying, okay?”

“Are you  _ really  _ though?” 

“Yes? Don’t get cryptic with me, Mark. If you want to say something, say it.” Donghyuck hates how defensive he sounds.

“I don’t think you’re taking your health seriously. I shouldn’t have to remind you, but you were fucking hospitalized and you won’t even acknowledge that.” Mark’s voice is quiet, but it’s much more intimidating than if he were yelling. “You need to start taking better care of yourself.”

“My health is my own business. You have no right to tell me what I should be doing.” Donghyuck hisses.

“Maybe I don’t, but I care about you and I just want to see you happy. It hurts, to see you destroy yourself and I can’t do anything about it. I feel fucking powerless.” Mark swipes furiously at his eyes.

“I have it under control.”

_ “Under control? _ I haven’t seen you have a proper meal in weeks.” 

“I’ve been busy. Sometimes I forget.” Donghyuck protests weakly.

“So you’re still using that excuse!?  _ Busy? _ Is that why you don’t keep anything down? Is that why you had a  _ fucking seizure?  _ You sure sound  _ busy _ in the bathroom after meals.” Mark slams his fist against the counter. His breathing is heavy. “Even after all this, you still won’t talk to me! Why won’t you just talk to me?”

“Have you considered that maybe it’s none of your goddamn business?” Donghyuck rasps. “If I wanted you to know, I would’ve told you!”

They’re silent for a moment.

Mark bursts into tears. “I know.” He sobs. “And I’m sorry.” 

Mark sinks to the floor in front of the kitchen island and buries his face in his hands. Donghyuck’s stomach churns with guilt. He hates himself so fucking much. He did this. He caused this. He reduced this strong, wonderful boy to a crying mess.

Donghyuck approaches Mark and crouches down beside him. He slings an arm over his shoulder, and Mark leans into him. 

“Why are you sorry? I’m the one who’s ruining everything, right?” Donghyuck laughs humorlessly.

“Because I’ve said some stupid shit to you. I’m scared and I want to fix this but I don’t know how.” Mark’s eyes are tearful but sincere.

“Why don’t you hate me?” Donghyuck asks meekly.

“How could I ever hate you, Hyuck?” Mark tilts his head.

“Nevermind.” Donghyuck mutters. 

_ “Please.  _ Why in the world would I hate you?”

“Because I’m gay and I like you, dumbass.” Donghyuck whispers hoarsely. And there it is: the elephant in the room. Sure, it’s true that he gives a rats ass about his own health, but what’s really driving them apart is Donghyuck’s inability to handle his feelings. “Did you already forget what I told you that day?”

Mark’s eyes bug out incredulously. “I’d never hate you for that. I’m not a bigot. You should know that.” Mark pauses, and Donghyuck can see the gears turning in his head. “I didn’t forget, I was just waiting for the right time to give you an answer.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Well, you confessed to me, no? Shouldn’t I give you an answer?” Mark sniffles but cracks a sly smile.

_ “You’re—what?”  _ Donghyuck sputters incredulously, because literally  _ what. _

“I mean, I never thought about it before but I  _ could  _ like you. Like, theoretically—maybe?” Mark sounds just as confused as Donghyuck feels.

“If you’re trying to let me down easy, it’s fine. I can get over it, just pretend I never said anything.” Donghyuck sighs, because he wishes Mark could just tear the bandaid off quickly. Rejection is painful enough without being dragged out like this.

“No! That’s not it—I mean—that’s not what I’m trying to get at here. I was surprised at first, but the more I thought about it…” Mark trails off.

“For the love of god _ , please,  _ spit it out.” Donghyuck pleads.

Mark blushes and looks down. “I’m trying to say that I’m getting used to the idea—y’know—of us being together. And, um, I don’t think I’d mind it? It’d be okay with me?” 

“You’re allowed to reject me, Mark. I don’t want to feel like I’m forcing myself on you. Do you even like boys?”

“I already told you, I never thought about it before. I mean, maybe? But it’s different with you, Hyuck.” Mark smiles tenderly. “You’re my best friend, it seems natural. Like I said, I don’t hate the idea of being together. I actually kind of like it?” 

_ “Huh?”  _ Donghyuck wheezes. 

“Shit, that sounds bad. I think I might like you back. I mean, I do.” Mark stammers.

“You  _ like me?”  _ Donghyuck screeches, because after all of his tears, all of his misery, Mark has the  _ audacity  _ to return is feelings? 

“Isn’t that a good thing?”

“Sorry, I’m just freaking out here, because WHAT?” Donghyuck stands up and paces across the kitchen, running a hand through his hair and tugging at his scalp. “So you’re saying that you LIKE me?”

“Why are you upset?” Mark asks nervously.

“I’m not upset. This is just insane and I can’t wrap my peanut-sized brain around any of this.” Donghyuck laughs hysterically. “I thought you’d hate me for the rest of my life, or at the very least this would ruin our friendship. Don’t you understand that this is something that could ruin my life if it ever got out? Loose lips fucking sink ships, Mark.“

“Hey, relax.” Mark hushes him and pulls him into a hug. “You  _ know _ that I wouldn’t blab about something this personal. No ships will be sunk.” 

“You’re such a dork.” Donghyuck huffs before he is buries his face into Mark’s shoulder. 

Mark pats his head reassuringly.

“Are you sure?” Donghyuck mumbles into Mark’s shirt after a few minutes of silence.

“About what?” 

“That you like me.” 

“I’m sure. Is that okay?” Mark asks coyly. He pulls away from the hug, but keeps his hands on Donghyuck’s shoulders, looking him in the eye. 

“That’s so  _ fucking  _ okay.” Donghyuck feels tears burn in his eyes. “I like you so much.”

“I know.” Mark’s petal lips pull into a hesitant but sweet smile. “I guess we’re dating now?” 

“Only if you want to.” Donghyuck can’t help but give Mark an out, because this is too good to be true. He can’t help but hold his breath and wait for it to be taken away from him. He doesn’t deserve this.

Mark pulls him closer and presses their cheeks together. Intimate, affectionate, just shy of a kiss. “I think so. This feels right.”

“You’re too good for me.”

“Shut up.” Mark says, but there’s no bite to it. Suddenly, an impish grin creeps into his face. 

“What?”

“You’re my boyfriend.”

“I guess I am.” Donghyuck feels high on the euphoria of being worthy, for once. “And you’re mine.”

“I guess we’ll have to keep this under wraps, for now at least. I’m not sure how the other guys would feel about it.” Mark admits.

“Yeah.” Donghyuck sighs, because that’s the sad reality of it. “But that’s okay.”

“We still have to talk more _.” _

”Fine.” Donghyuck knows it’s unavoidable. “But not yet.”

The day dissolves into hesitant touches and lingering glances. But still, their happiness is underscored by the looming threat of the unaddressed.

—

Donghyuck is an escape artist when it comes to avoiding certain conversations. It doesn’t help that he’s a sneak in general. Lying has always come much too easy for him. 

Weights in his pockets, food down his sleeves, forced smiles and metallic sounding laughs, clothes so bulky if it weren’t for his face he’d almost look healthy. It’s shockingly simple to deceive, so much so that he wonders if he is fooling himself. 

Somehow, though, Mark always seems to see right through him.

The end of a Smithsonian nature documentary is playing on the screen of Mark’s laptop, but neither of them are watching it. It’s narrated by a man with a thick British accent and there are no subtitles so Donghyuck is completely lost, but he doesn’t mind, he’s content to watch the pretty scenery and hold hands with Mark under the blanket. Donghyuck’s room is empty, though he knows Johnny will be back soon. It’s still better than hanging out in Mark’s room with their manager breathing down their necks.

“Hyuck? Can I ask you something?” Mark rubs circles onto the back of Donghyuck’s hand with his thumb.

“Sure.” Donghyuck replies, leaning closer to Mark in the small bed.

“Are you sad?” 

“I don’t know.” Donghyuck feels his spine stiffen, not because the question is so personal, but because it isn’t and yet it still carries so much weight. “Sometimes, I guess. I don’t think sad is the right way to describe it.” 

“How would you describe it then?”

“Heavy.” Donghyuck finds himself answering. It’s easy to be honest in the dark.

“What do you mean heavy?”

“Have you ever heard of Atlas?” 

“Like a book full of maps?” Mark scrunches his nose in confusion. It’s endlessly endearing.

“No, the titan.” Donghyuck says, resisting the urge to boop Mark’s nose. “From Greek mythology.”

“You mean the guy who held up the sky?” 

“Bingo.” Donghyuck smiles bitterly. “That’s the type of heaviness I know. Sometimes I feel like I’m holding up the sky. It’s hopeless, it’s hard, and if I’m not careful it will crush me. But I’m condemned to it forever.” 

“Hyuck…” Mark trails off.

“I know. I don’t have a reason to feel like this. And even if I did, I should deal with it. So many others have it so much worse than me. I’m just being ungrateful.” 

“Stop that.” Mark snaps.

“What?” 

“Invalidating your feelings. You’re allowed to not be okay.” Mark says gently. 

“Right.” Donghyuck nods tersely, even though he doesn’t believe it.

“Do you ever think about giving up? Y’know just letting the sky crush you.”

Donghyuck bites his tongue. What he wants to say is that he did a while ago, and the heaviness he feels now is the crushing weight of the sky suffocating him infinitely. 

“I’m tired, Mark.” He admits. “Sometimes I think I’m in a losing battle. More like Sisyphus and his rock than Atlas and the sky. But it’s all the same isn’t it? There’s no escape from this pain.”

“What if you let me bear some of the weight? I want to.” 

“I’m doing that right now, aren’t I?” Donghyuck shrugs.

“No offense, but this is the most roundabout way of venting I’ve ever heard. I’m gonna be honest, you sound super smart right now, but it’s hard for me to understand what you’re getting at. This mythology shit? It’s Greek to me.” Mark jokes, laughing softly.

“You’re such a dork.” 

“Your dork.” Mark says proudly.

“Yeah, yeah.” Donghyuck smiles.

“But really, tell me. I promise you, I won’t see you any differently.” 

“Don’t you already know?” 

“Maybe I do _.  _ But still, I want to hear it from you.” Mark takes both his hands and looks him in the eye.

Donghyuck sighs and averts his eyes. “It’s not something so glamorous or interesting. Frankly, I don’t even know what to say really. It’s convoluted and nonsensical. If it wasn’t, then we wouldn’t be having this conversation, would we?”

“Maybe. But still, it doesn’t have to make sense.”

“It’s gross. I’m gross.” Donghyuck protests. “Why don’t you understand that this isn’t something you want to know about?”

“You’re not gross, Hyuck. Don’t talk about yourself like that.” Mark says gently but firmly. “I want to know. I want you to trust me enough to let it in.”

“It’s not something so special. I just don’t eat sometimes.” Donghyuck knows he’s minimizing it, but even admitting this is tantamount for him. For so long all he has done is romanticize this and lie—even to himself.

Mark nods and Donghyuck supposes that this must not be such a huge secret then. 

“Why?” Mark runs a comforting hand through Donghyuck’s hair.

“I don’t know. I guess I just don’t like myself that much. It’s easier to feel empty.” Donghyuck shrugs nonchalantly, as though he isn’t spilling his guts.

“What makes it easier?” Mark pulls him closer just as the end credits of the documentary appear on the screen. Classical music accompanies the white text and it feels nothing short of surreal.

“I don’t know, it just is.”

“Don’t you like food?” Mark asks, sounding just as clueless as Donghyuck feels.

Donghyuck laughs mournfully. “I love food like you wouldn’t believe, Mark. That’s also why I hate it.” 

“Are you trying to lose weight or something?” Mark chews his lip nervously.

“Yeah. I mean part of me is. Part of me doesn’t care.” Donghyuck purses his lips and grapples with the question. “I care less about not feeling fat and more about feeling small, I guess. But that’s not really it either.”

“You just want to hurt, don’t you.” It’s not a question. A tear slides down Mark’s cheek. 

“Don’t…” Donghyuck warns. It feels like he’s been verbally sucker punched. He takes a breath but it’s sharp and raucous in the otherwise quiet room.

Mark sighs, but doesn’t push the subject. Instead, he wraps his arms around Donghyuck and pulls him impossibly closer, as though Donghyuck is something precious and deserving.

“How is it that after every conversation we have, I always have more to say?” Mark muses sardonically.

Donghyuck opens his mouth to respond—though he’s not sure what to say—when Johnny suddenly saunters into the room. 

“Hey, get off you oaf. You have your own bed.” Mark complains when Johnny throws himself on top of them. 

“So do you, Mark.” Johnny slurs, breath reeking of soju and beer.

“Come on, Johnny. You’re drunk. Go to bed.” Donghyuck futilely pushes at Johnny’s shoulder. 

“I’m not drunk. I’m buzzed.” Johnny whines.

Mark raises an eyebrow at him. 

_ “Fine.”  _ Johnny groans. “I might be a  _ bit _ tipsy, but it’s not my fault that Jaehyun can drink like a sailor.”

“The saying is ‘curse like a sailor.’” The tonal dissonance of it has Donghyuck fighting the urge to grin. Nothing about this evening feels real. 

“He’s good at that too.” Johnny groans and rolls onto Donghyuck. “You’re too bony, I’m going to my own bed.” With that, he stumbles into the dresser, knocking over half a dozen things on it, before finally landing in his own bed. It’s astonishing how he seems to fall asleep immediately.

“He’s gonna have a hell of a hangover tomorrow. How much did he drink?” Mark mutters under his breath. “I should head back to my room, now.”

“Goodnight, Mark. Thanks for listening to my bullshit. It’s nice, just to feel less alone.”

“I’m here to listen to you. Always.” Mark glances cautiously at Johnny’s sleeping form before pressing his lips to Donghyuck’s forehead. “Goodnight, Hyuck.”

The door clicks shut, but even in the dark, Donghyuck can see his hands are shaking. Did that conversation really just happen?

—

Donghyuck thought that talking about it would make him feel better. It doesn't. Instead it makes him feel like he has something to prove and validate his words. He knows it’s crazy, but he feels like he has to starve just so Mark thinks he’s sick enough, and not just looking for attention. 

He doesn’t know how he’s doing it, but suddenly it has been three weeks and he hasn’t eaten more than a few pieces of fruit on any of the days. He’s not sure how he’s still standing. The urge to binge lies dormant beneath his skin, and he wants to, but he can’t _.  _ He doesn’t know why, but he  _ can’t _ .

At least he hasn’t been purging, right?

They’re still in the early stages of preparing for the next comeback. One that Donghyuck will be expected to be part of, so he really shouldn’t be back on his bullshit again. But what that also means is that there’s ample time for him to ruin himself. 

He’s just surprised no one has noticed yet, but then again, how could they? He’s addicted to lies and manipulation. 

Of course, his downfall isn’t something romantic or beautiful, like in the movies where the Handsome White Man With Curly Hair finds his lover collapsed in a garden of thorny, red roses. He’d crouch above her pale and exquisite face and desperately press his skinny lips to hers and perform mouth-to-mouth resuscitation for the sake of young love, colonizing her mouth with his rather charming microbes. 

No, for Donghyuck it’s fainting in the shower and talking the curtain and rod down with him. There’s no warning of it until suddenly his knees are giving out and all he can see is white. When he comes to, he realizes he’s laying on the tiled floor of the bathroom, shower curtain twisted around him like a toga. 

“Doyoung?” 

“Oh, thank god, you’re awake. Stay down, I don’t want you to faint again.” Doyoung pushes at his shoulders when he moves to sit up. 

This isn’t the first time Donghyuck has fainted but it’s definitely the most embarrassing.

“What happened?” 

“I heard a noise, probably when you yanked the curtain rod down and came in here to find you half conscious and in a shower curtain burrito. How the hell you managed to do that is beyond me.”

“God, this is humiliating.” Donghyuck groans. 

“You should think about that the next time you let yourself get to this point. You’re lucky I was here to pull you out of the water so you wouldn’t drown in a fucking puddle. When you’re feeling better I’ll get you some gatorade, your electrolytes are probably shot to hell.” Doyoung grumbles, but folds a soft towel and places it beneath Donghyuck’s head. “Luckily, I don’t think you have a concussion.” 

“How do you know?”

“I’ve spent more time on WebMD than I’d like to admit.” 

“Why?” Donghyuck laughs weakly.

“Because I’m worried about you. I want to be prepared when stuff like this happens.”

“I’m sorry.” Donghyuck sniffles, feeling tears sting in his eyes. Why does he always have to be such a fucking burden? He’s so selfish.

“Hey, don’t cry. It’s not good for you.” Doyoung pats Donghyuck's cheeks with a clump of toilet paper.

“Did WebMD tell you that too?” Donghyuck snarks.

“No.” Doyoung smiles sadly. “I know it’s not my place, but I’m just tired of seeing you hurting.”

In that moment, with the wet floor against his bare ass, it becomes clear to Donghyuck, “I’m dying.” He cries, and Doyoung dabs at his face with renewed vigor. 

“No you’re not.” But even Doyoung sounds uncertain.

“I am.” Donghyuck insists. He’s not sure what has come over him, but he needs  _ someone  _ to know. What if this is it? “I almost died in an inch of water.”

“Don’t be dramatic.” Doyoung says soothingly. “You’re not dying.”

“What if I want to?” Donghyuck challenges, pounding his fist against the floor pathetically. “No one ever thinks about what I want! You guys are always telling me—“ His voice breaks. “I’m so tired, Doyoung.”

“I know.” Doyoung answers quietly, but he looks like Donghyuck has slapped him. 

  
  


—

Of course, this isn’t some fantasy land where Donghyuck can faint in the shower and get away with it. He can’t even hold it against Doyoung for telling the manager, not when Donghyuck basically told him he wants to die. It’s funny, how no one knows how much you’re hurting until you’re broken.

“We’ve been taking a more reserved approach with you, but clearly that was a mistake.” His manager lectures him on the way back from the emergency room. Even though Donghyuck could tell it wasn’t another seizure, his manager insisted that they go to the hospital just to be safe.

Donghyuck fights the urge to roll his eyes. It’s the same shit the doctor said, and it’s the same shit he already knows. In times like these, he likes to imagine Lee Sooman holding a chart with his vital signs screaming, “Unacceptable! Impertinent! Utterly ridiculous!”

“Are you even listening?” His manager’s voice snaps him back to reality. 

“Not really.” Donghyuck shrugs. For some reason he’s in the mood to piss off anyone he can today.

“Get in the car.” 

“Why? My therapy appointment isn’t for another two hours.” 

“If you had been listening you’d know that the appointment time is different, since you’re seeing a new psychologist now. Your previous one didn’t seem to be effective.”

“Fine.” Donghyuck grumbles, marching out of the dorm begrudgingly.

“We’re also upping the amount. You’ll be seeing her 5 days a week instead of just once.”

Donghyuck whips his head around to face his manager as they climb into the car. “What about practice?” 

“You’re barred from physical activity at the moment. Also, until you’re deemed both mentally and physically capable to rejoin group activities, you’ll be sitting out from that too. Consider it an incentive to get better.” 

“Whatever.” Donghyuck sighs and stares at the buildings that pass the car window. 

It’s late in the afternoon, but when Donghyuck reads the office hours marked on the door, it says it’s after closing time.

“Isn’t it closed?” Donghyuck wonders hopefully.

“You’re an idol. You can’t exactly waltz into a packed waiting room for an appointment. Luckily, Dr. Cha Haeun was kind enough to agree to see you after hours.” 

Donghyuck nods and wordlessly steps out of the van. At least this time he knows his therapist’s name.  _ Off to a great start,  _ He thinks sarcastically.

“Nice to meet you, Donghyuck. You can call me Haeun.” She shakes his hand and gestures for him to sit.

“It’s nice to meet you, too.” Donghyuck replies. He’s doesn’t really mean it, but the last thing he wants is a thread to spring up accusing him of being a bitch to psychologists.

“I’d like to start with asking you a few questions, if you don’t mind. Rest assured, it’s confidential.” Haeun tells him reassuringly. 

“Sure.” Donghyuck shrugs, because what does he even have to lose at this point.

“I don’t want to start this off on a heavy note, we can always do that later. So, why don’t you tell me about someone you love. It could be a parent, a sibling, a friend, a significant other.”

“Mark.” He blurts out. “His name is Mark.”

“Is he your friend?” 

“Yeah.” Donghyuck chokes out, his voice an octave higher than usual.  _ “My friend.” _

“It’s okay if he’s more than that.” Her smile is wide and pretty. She looks at him knowingly and Donghyuck can feel his walls come down slightly. He supposed she’s a psychologist for a reason.

“He’s my boyfriend.” Donghyuck replies immediately. He has only known this woman for ten minutes and he already likes her. 

“Tell me about him.” So Donghyuck does.

By the time the two hours are up, Donghyuck is only halfway through his story about the painful experience when Mark made him laugh so hard that ramen came out of his nose and it felt like flossing his sinuses.

After getting Haeun’s phone number and email “just in case,” his manager leads him to the awaiting car. He feels lighter than he had in a while. Even though he didn’t speak about anything serious, it’s comforting to feel  _ heard. _

“How was it?” Mark is waiting for him in the living room, even though he should be in his own room sleeping by now.

“Good, I think.” Donghyuck answers, surprised that he actually means it.

“I’m glad.” Mark’s eyes crinkle in the corners and Donghyuck can’t help but press their lips together.

—

Of course, nothing gold can stay, and the easy fun discussions at therapy soon give way to harder ones. Donghyuck doesn’t like it.

“You’re not following your meal plan.” Haeun says. It’s not a question. Haeun knows it and so does Donghyuck. 

“I’m trying.” Donghyuck snaps.

“I’m gonna level with you. I know it sucks, but for this to work you’re going to have to try harder. At the very least, you shouldn’t be  _ losing  _ weight.” 

Donghyuck hates how she acts like it’s so simple.  _ Just eat.  _ If he knew how, he would. 

As much as he likes Haeun, it’s clear that she doesn’t know enough about eating disorders, much less have significant experience in treating them. While it’s undoubtedly the fault of the system, it’s still frustrating for Donghyuck. 

“Donghyuck, I have a proposition for you.” Haeun tells him simply.

He nods.

“I’m afraid that you’re not making as much progress as we had hoped, so if this continues, I’d like to refer you to an inpatient center in Malaysia. Your company is already on board, and willing to cover all expenses.”

“Malaysia? I can’t go to Malaysia!” Donghyuck protests.

“Why not?” She smiles patiently. “The country is beautiful and it’s a lovely program. I’ll give you a pamphlet, it’s called The Wave Clinic. Just keep it in mind, okay?”

“Please, I can get better in Korea.” Donghyuck pleads. He can’t go to Malaysia. First they’ll make him leave the country, next NCT. It’s no secret that many idols who go on hiatus never return to the industry. “I’ll do anything, just please, don’t make me go.”

“Alright, we’ll see what we can do here. But I want to see improvement each week for the next month.” Haeun turns to her computer and begins to type rapidly. “You can remain in Korea on the condition that we extend our sessions by an hour, and I want you to meet with your nutritionist and company doctor more often. I’m also referring you to a psychiatrist in the area who I’d like you to see.”

“Okay. That’s fine.” Donghyuck replies desperately, because he  _ has  _ to stay in Korea. Without NCT he has nothing.

With a sigh, Haeun looks at the clock. “That’s all for today. I’m sorry I can’t do better for you. It’s difficult to emulate the experience of an inpatient program in a country which barely acknowledges that eating disorders even exist, much less have any programs for them.”

“No, this is good.” Donghyuck insists. “Thank you. I promise to do better.”

“Don’t promise me. Do it for yourself.” Haeun hands him a stack of papers and he’s ushered out the door before he can reply.

“How was it?” His manager asks him, standing up from the cushioned seat in the waiting room with a grunt. 

“Good, but I have some work to do.” Donghyuck had expected to be filled with dread leaving the office, but he feels oddly determined. Or perhaps that’s just his brain rationalizing soul-crushing fear so he doesn’t have a psychotic break. If NCT is as fluid as the company claims it to be, he could be easily removed and replaced. He wouldn’t just lose his fame and career, but his friends too. And Mark.

He refuses to let the only good in his life be taken away from him. He’ll do anything, sacrifice anything to hold onto this.

“Well, that’s expected, right? This didn’t happen overnight, it’s going to take a while to return to normal.” His manager pats him on the back.

Donghyuck notices that the leather seat where his manager was sitting still hasn’t returned to its original shape, but instead has retained a butt-shaped dent in it. “Thank you for waiting for me.”

“It’s nothing. Come on, one of your friends is in the car. He wanted to come along to pick you up today.”

“Who?” Donghyuck can’t help but sound surprised.

“Mark.”

Donghyuck doesn’t even hesitate to run into the parking lot. This is why he has to get better. He can’t lose this. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay!! The title makes sense now!! I love Greek mythology hehe
> 
> I’m sorry if any parts of this seem inaccurate. I have never been in this specific situation, though I wish I had a Mark who cared about me this much lol.
> 
> I’m posting this 2 minutes before I have to go to my zoom class, so the current chapter title is just the working one :)
> 
> Hope you enjoyed this chapter!
> 
> Hyuck finally got a wake up call, let’s see if he can change...


	6. One Step Forward (Ten Steps Back)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning!
> 
> All tagged triggers apply, including self harm. It is not graphic but if this is triggering for you do not read :)

“Donghyuck, you’re not even trying.” Taeyong sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose.

“I am. It’s just hard.” Donghyuck swallows roughly around the thickness of tears that threaten to spill. 

“It’s supposed to be hard.” Taeyong answers patiently. “Come on, if you don’t finish this you have to have one of those shakes you hate.”

_ “Fuck no.”  _ Donghyuck takes a shuddering breath and smiles slightly. Taeyong pats him on the head.

Donghyuck picks up his chopsticks again and stabs at a piece of chicken. He chews it slowly and methodically until it’s sludge in his mouth. Then he repeats. 

“Is there anything I can do to make it easier?”

“Talk.” Donghyuck answers immediately. “You can tell me about the dump you took this morning or something. Literally, anything is fine, I just need to get my mind off this.”

“Shut up.” Taeyong says but there’s no bite to it. He launches into a story about Ruby that Donghyuck has definitely heard before, but one that is entertaining even the fourth time around.

Donghyuck ignores the swell of emotions in his chest. He’s so grateful to Taeyong. He knows he’s being difficult, and yet Taeyong still puts up with him. Haeun has encouraged him to tell Taeyong about his  _ food issues  _ (He can hear Haeun reprimanding him already, “Eating disorder. Call it what it is, Donghyuck.”) since Taeyong is one of the most trustworthy and sensible people he knows. So even though it was embarrassing to tell him about how he sometimes skips meals, (Donghyuck had tried to minimize it and make it seem as not-bad as possible, omitting the part about him throwing up.) Taeyong hadn’t seemed very surprised and thanked Donghyuck for trusting him. 

Plus, Taeyong is a significant upgrade from having his manager stare at him during mealtimes with dead fish eyes. Of course, Donghyuck doesn’t really want to involve  _ anyone  _ with this, but it helps that his manager was eager to hand off the duty (especially after the third time it took Donghyuck an hour to get through half a sandwich) and Taeyong seems to genuinely want to see him get better.

“I’m proud of you.” Taeyong tells him when his plate is clear.

“Why? I had a portion that a toddler would eat.” Donghyuck bristles. “You shouldn’t be proud of me for doing something that’s supposed to be easy.”

“Objectively it’s easy.” Taeyong shrugs nonchalantly. “But think of it this way, Korean is easy for us, but was really hard at first for our foreign members, so we would feel proud of them just for speaking it. Do you get it “

Donghyuck knows it’s meant to soothe him but it only frustrates him. Eating is literally a bodily function, almost like breathing. He needs it to survive. And yet he’s incapable, failing at something innate. 

Instead of voicing this, he settles on, “Yeah, I get it.”

Resentfully, he glares at his plate and wonders when he’ll stop being such a burden.

—

Donghyuck isn’t sure who allowed him to attend a company event, but somehow he finds himself getting fitted for a suit that the tailor remarks would fit a nine-year-old. It reminds him that outside of his little bubble people won’t be so kind to him. It also makes sick pleasure crawl up his spine. Recovery has been losing its appealing luster lately, and it’s a fight not to fall back into old habits.

The gala is for charity, though Donghyuck gets the feeling it’s really just a photo-op to favorably portray SM and its artists to the media. The event is filled with champagne and shrimps on glossy platters. It’s fancy and gaudy in ways that are reminiscent of a high-class funeral. 

When Lee Sooman appears at a podium Donghyuck almost expects him to be carried on a throne and fanned with a leaf. He emphasizes just how  _ generous  _ and  _ benevolent  _ he is while maintaining an air of humbleness. It’s paradoxical, but the benefactors eat it up, tripping over their own feet to throw money at the cause. The various speakers following him drone for over an hour and Donghyuck finds it amazing how they can talk that much without  _ saying _ anything. He doesn’t even know what charity this is for.

He’s sitting at a long table with a black table cloth, and briefly entertains the idea of hiding under it. The meal is five courses comprised by a selection of French dishes chosen simply for the sake of being pretentious. It’s rigid and intimidating in all the ways that makes Donghyuck want to cry. 

“Hyuck, you’ve been glaring at that crouton for five minutes.” Mark nudges him gently. “It’s just a salad.”

In this moment, Donghyuck wishes he was sitting next to anyone but Mark.

“Right.” He gulps, before repeating robotically, “It’s just a salad.”

He stabs at a cherry tomato and it bleeds onto the plate. It’s a horrible decision, but Donghyuck decides  _ fuck health  _ he’s just going to eat tonight and get rid of it later. He needs to get Mark off his back. He can’t deal with this shit when there’s nearly three hundred Important People in the room. 

Donghyuck tries to act as normal as possible and remind himself that this isn’t a fucking binge. But it’s hard. Knowing that it’s all coming back up anyway makes his skin crawl with a need to devour the entire bread basket and lick his plate clean.

He’s so out of it, so stuck in his head that he doesn’t even realize that the meal is over until he’s staring at smudges of chocolate on his plate from a soufflé. 

_ “Mark!”  _ He hears a voice call. Donghyuck looks up and sees Jongin waving at Mark from a few tables away. 

“Go.” Donghyuck forces a smile. He knows the two got close during SuperM promotions but for some reason he feels jealous. He’s pathetic. Mark is allowed to have other friends, he doesn’t own him.

“Are you sure?” Mark asks hesitantly, and Donghyuck hates that he’s holding him back.

“Of course. Maybe I’ll see how the other Dreamies are doing.” 

“I’ll be right back, I promise.” Mark assures him, linking their pinkies.

“Sounds good.” Donghyuck replies.

Mark doesn’t come back, but instead gets swept up in the crowd of people who want to talk with SM’s golden-boy. Donghyuck is tarnished and weary. No one wants to talk with him.

Donghyuck quaffs three glasses of champagne while he sits at the table alone—just because it’s easier to blame bad decisions on alcohol—before stumbling to the outskirts of the room.

As he slips into the empty hallway, he struggles to stay upright. He has always been a lightweight but this is just humiliating. 

The bathroom is easy enough to find, which is nothing short of a miracle considering how disoriented he feels. Fake flowers crowd the counters between the sinks and Donghyuck can see his reflection in the marble floors. Light jazz plays from hidden speakers. It’s a rather pleasant place to have a drunken mental breakdown, almost romantic. Perhaps even vomiting will be something elegant. 

Yep, he’s definitely losing it. 

Donghyuck crouches over the toilet and almost faceplants into the wall. Twice more he nearly introduces his teeth to the gold leaf wallpaper before he regains a semblance of balance. He removes the fork that he had smuggled in his sleeve resentfully. It’s not great, but the handle is smooth enough, and in such a fancy bathroom he might as well try to be  _ classy  _ about this. 

He hears the door open and dress shoes click against the shiny floor. Two voices bounce off the walls, bickering and cheerful, but Donghyuck is too out of it to place them. He knows that he should probably stop and wait for them to leave, but then he gags around his fork and feels something in his gut shift. He’s almost there, all he needs is a few more seconds. 

Finally, champagne and the first bit of what was once French cuisine comes back up. At the same time, the voices go silent and the footsteps stop right outside his stall. 

“Uh, everything good in there?” One of the voices asks.

Donghyuck hurls up something soggy and dark. Either it’s the chocolate soufflé or he’s bleeding internally.  _ How fun. _

_ “Shit, that doesn’t sound good.” The other voice says. “I’m gonna stand on the toilet and see if they’re okay.” _

“Donghyuck,  _ what are you doing?!” _ Jaemin nearly shrieks as his face appears above the partition between stalls. 

“Give me a second.” Donghyuck gags, but the next thing he knows Jaemin is sliding under the stall door and wrenching him away from the toilet. 

“Let go of me.” Donghyuck pleads, thrashing violently in Jaemin’s grip. “I’m gonna throw up.” 

Jaemin ignores him. “Jeno, grab that fork from him.”

“Really, I’m not joking. I  _ need  _ to throw up.” Donghyuck can’t bring himself to feel embarrassed. He lost any sense of self preservation a long time ago. 

“Like hell you do!” Jaemin replies angrily, tightening his grip around Dong. “The fuck is this? Why would you do this?”

“Please, just let me finish.” Donghyuck’s stomach lurches unpleasantly. He  _ does _ genuinely feel sick, but he also needs to get the rest out, he needs to feel empty again. 

Jeno crouches next to them. _ “What the fuck?”  _ He whispers. 

Donghyuck opens his mouth to reply but nothing comes out. He can’t breathe.

_ “Shit,  _ calm down. You’re okay.” Jaemin pats him on the back, but it jostles Donghyuck and makes his stomach churn. 

He barely has a chance to look away from Jeno’s face before he’s vomiting into Jaemin’s lap.

“Ew.” Jaemin says eloquently. Jeno hands him a wad of toilet paper and instead of wiping his pants, he wipes Donghyuck’s tear-streaked face.

“I’m sorry.” Donghyuck gasps. He tries to say more but then he’s gagging and bile spews from his mouth. At least this time it lands in his own lap.

“Shit, what do we do?” Jaemin turns to Jeno.

“I don’t know. Should I get someone?” Jeno asks.

“No. I’ll be fine.” Donghyuck legs are shaking. Maybe from panic. Maybe because he feels two seconds away from fainting.

“You’re really not fine, Hyuck. I’m getting someone.” Jeno replies and bolts out the door.

Momentarily, he entertains the idea of running, but Jaemin’s arms are locked around his middle and it’s not like he’d probably even make that far with how weak he feels.

“Is this what you’ve been doing? I knew something was wrong, but what the fuck?” Jaemin’s voice breaks. “What were you thinking? You can’t do this. It’s not good for you.”

“I’m trying, okay?” Donghyuck cries. “I didn’t want to be here tonight and I didn’t want anyone to know about  _ this _ .”

“Donghyuck, this isn’t healthy.” Jaemin’s jaw clenches. “You can’t do this anymore.”

“I know. I’ve been seeing someone and it’s been helping.” Donghyuck coughs roughly. “It’s not easy to stop. I’m sorry for puking on your dick, though.”

_ “Seeing someone?  _ Like what? You got a girlfriend now?” Jaemin furrows his brows.

_ Boyfriend,  _ Donghyuck’s mind corrects bitterly. “No, you idiot, I’m seeing a psychologist.”

“Oh.” Jaemin replies dumbly.

“Yeah,  _ oh.”  _ Donghyuck mimics, but immediately feels bad. “I’m sorry. This is just so fucking embarrassing.”

“It’s not embarrassing.” Jaemin argues weakly, but Donghyuck can tell he doesn’t mean it.

“Whatever. Can you just forget about all this?” Donghyuck slurs. How the hell is he still feeling the alcohol  _ after _ vomiting?

Jaemin cards a hand through his hair and sighs. “You don’t have to talk to me about this, but I’m here for you, y’know?”

“Right. Thanks.” 

“But we have to tell someone about this, so it won’t happen again. Someone should’ve been watching you tonight.” 

“I’m not a fucking child! I don’t need to be supervised!” Donghyuck pulls away from Jaemin abruptly. “I’m better, this was just a mistake.”

“How the hell is a fork down your throat a mistake? You don’t just accidentally do that.” Jaemin’s voice is loud and angry. It makes Donghyuck want to hide. “You have to tell the managers, because clearly your psychologist is doing shit. They need to be doing more for you.”

“You can’t tell them!” Donghyuck sobs hysterically. 

“If you won’t tell someone, I will.” Jaemin replies firmly.

“I’m supposed to be getting better. If they hear about this they’re going to send me to Malaysia. You guys are all I have.” Distantly, he gets the feeling that he’s saying too much. “You  _ can’t  _ tell them, they’ll kick me out.”

_ ‘Malaysia?’  _ Donghyuck sees Jaemin mouth to himself, showing that he has no clue what Donghyuck is talking about. 

Suddenly, the bathroom door swings open and a pair of hands are grabbing at his face.

“Mark?” Donghyuck looks up and can’t keep the shock out of his voice. 

Mark is silent and his eyes are sad. “Hyuck.” He whispers tentatively, his voice soft and quiet in a way that makes Donghyuck want to start crying all over again.

“I couldn’t find our managers, and he was actually looking for you, so I figured I should bring him.” Jeno explains breathlessly. It’s clear that they ran from the banquet hall. 

“I’m fine.” Donghyuck tells Mark, even though he’s so dizzy that he can barely see straight.

“I knew I shouldn’t have left you. I don’t know why I didn’t just bring you with me.” Mark sits on the floor and lets Jaemin pass Donghyuck to him.

Donghyuck hates how he’s always the one that needs to have his hand held every step of the way. He’s holding Mark back, dragging him down.

“Come on, let’s get off the floor. We’ll talk about this later.” Mark tells him.

Donghyuck goes to stand but his legs give out and he slumps against Mark again. 

Jeno immediately pulls Donghyuck back to his feet and wraps an arm around his waist. “Christ, Hyuck.” He mutters, but doesn’t comment further. 

Lazily, Donghyuck lets his head loll back onto Jeno’s shoulder and closes his eyes, enjoying the peace while he still can.

He’s in such deep shit.

—

Maybe it was Mark, or Jaemin, or even Jeno who told their manager, but it doesn’t matter. Apparently it was alarming enough for their manager to call Haeun the next morning even though Donghyuck would be seeing her later that day. It’s still early, but late enough that no one is in the dorm. Haeun shows up in a pretty yellow sundress and espadrilles. He’s so used to her usual smart blazer and loafers that he almost doesn’t recognize her at first,

“I’m sorry they made you come.” Donghyuck says in lieu of greeting. “I know this must’ve been an inconvenience.”

“Nonsense.” Haeun waves her hand dismissively and walks last Donghyuck into the dorm. She sits on the couch and pats the cushion beside her. “When I heard what had happened, I knew it would be good to see you as soon as possible.”

“It’s not a big deal. It’s just throw up.” Donghyuck shrugs.

“We have a lot of work to do, don’t we?”

By the time the session is over, Haeun has decided that Donghyuck  _ cannot be trusted  _ and  _ must be watched.  _ It’s very  _ 1984, big brother is watching.  _ But Donghyuck has to admit she has a point, even though it makes him wonder if she has a thing for Orwell.

“I want you to continue to stick to your meal plan, you’re increasing calories this week. And I don’t want you to eat alone, or be alone after eating,” Haeun emphasizes each word with a scribble on her keyboard, but Donghyuck isn’t convinced that she’s not playing connect the dots.

_ “Anything else?”  _ He asks obnoxiously, just to be a brat.

“Well, since you asked,” She smiles, unaffected by Donghyuck, “If you are having harmful thoughts or think it’s unsafe for you to be alone,  _ please,  _ talk to someone. Your friends want to see you healthy.”

“I don’t need their help.” Donghyuck bristles.

“Maybe you don’t. But have you considered that perhaps it’s not your choice? They want to help, and they will even if you don’t let them.”

“Huh.” Donghyuck says. “I guess so,”

—

“Can I tell you something?” Donghyuck asks Jungwoo tentatively. Mark sits next to him in the grass and squeezes his hand encouragingly. 

It’s the night of Donghyuck’s birthday and they’re at Jungwoo’s park again. Perhaps it is becoming Donghyuck’s park, too.

“Sure, but let me guess what it is first.” Jungwoo runs a hand through the grass appreciatively and thoughtfully. “Is it that I’m the best gift giver in the entire world?”

“Don’t get me wrong, I love the bucket hat you gave me, but that’s not it.” Donghyuk grins, pulling said hat further down in his head,

“If you’re going to tell me that you two are dating, hate to tell you, but I already know.”

_ “How?”  _ Mark wheezes, turning to Donghyuck accusingly. “Did you tell him?”

“No one told me. Either you two are the most disgustingly obvious couple I’ve ever seen or I’m a genius,” Jungwoo laughs softly. “Let’s go with the latter, yeah?”

“You never fail to surprise me.” Donghyuck shakes his head in disbelief.

“Sorry, sorry. I shouldn’t get slidetracked. What did you want to tell me?”

“It’s not really something that fun. I kinda have a favor to ask of you too.” Donghyuck fiddles nervously with the frayed hem of his jeans.

“I’ll do anything except give you my soul. I haven’t had one of those since I took technical drawing in high school.” Jungwoo’s jokes but his expression then becomes more serious. “I know I’m joking around, but I’m here for you, Hyuck. I mean it.”

“Could you eat with me sometimes?” Donghyuck blurts out. Mark rubs comforting and encouraging circles between his shoulder blades. “Sometimes I end up eating alone.”

“Of course. That’s it?”

“Um, if you don’t mind, maybe you could sit with me after meals too? Y’know if you’re not busy or anything. It’s no big deal though. You don’t have to.” 

“I’ll do that. Absolutely.” Jungwoo bites his lip as though he wants to say more.

“Thank you.” Donghyuck replies earnestly. “You probably want to know why, right?”

Jungwoo shakes his head slightly. “I think I already know. I’m a genius, don’t you remember.” He smiles but it doesn’t reach his eyes, 

“Thanks.” Donghyuck repeats, wondering if there will ever come a day that he doesn’t feel infinitely indebted to everyone around him.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Jungwoo asks hesitantly.

“Nah.” Donghyuck says. It’s easy in the darkness, 

“Alright. Pass me the binoculars, then. We came out here to watch the stars, so consider them fucking watched,” Jungwoo laughs,

Mark hands him the binoculars with a groan. “Dude, I can’t see shit now.”

“Whose fault is that?” Donghyuck teases.

“Light pollution.” Mark grumbles, circling his fingers around his eyes in the shape of binoculars. 

“Does that even do anything?” Donghyuck laughs. “You look like an insect.”

_ “Your  _ insect.” Mark replies.

“You guys are gross, I’m gonna throw up.” Suddenly Jungwoo freezes. “Shit, I shouldn’t have said that. Was that offensive— _ ohmygod _ —was that  _ triggering _ , I’m so sorry—“

Donghyuck cuts him off with a fit of laughter. 

“Stop it, I’m just trying to do my best here.” Jungwoo sounds annoyed, but his expression is one of relief.

Maybe things can get better.

—

Slowly, Donghyuck realizes that his friends don’t trust him anymore. They’re right not to, but it still pisses him off. 

_ Are you okay _ is always followed up with  _ are you sure.  _ And it’s not exactly subtle when Taeyong suggests that they all watch a movie after dinner. Every. Single. Night.

Perhaps Mark blabbered about how much of an emotional wreck Donghyuck is, or Jaemin let it slip to someone about finding Donghyuck with a fucking fork down his throat. But, however it spread, Donghyuck’s secrets are not as well kept as they used to be, any sense of privacy he once had is being taken away from him.

It feels like losing an old friend. 

“Can you guys stop staring at me? I feel like a caged animal.” Donghyuck snaps during dinner.

“Well maybe you should start eating then.” Taeyong answers calmly.

“I’m not hungry.” 

Donghyuck can feel the tension rise as the table exchanges uncomfortable glances. He hates it.

“Come on. Quit it with the dramatics, just eat.” Taeyong is obviously nearing the end of his patience.

“That’s rich!” Donghyuck barks out a cruel laugh. “Telling an anorexic to ‘just eat!’  _ Surely,  _ it’s just that fucking simple right?!”

The table is silent, because Donghyuck just used the  _ a-word.  _

Mark places a warm hand on his knee and squeezes it reassuringly. “You guys are making it weird.” He says to the others at the table. Even though they didn’t say anything, Johnny and Doyoung look more sheepish than Taeyong.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean what I said.” Taeyong scratches at the back of his neck. “I’ll try not to watch you.”

“I’m sorry for snapping at you.” Donghyuck sighs and turns back to his plate. 

He aches with guilt in every fiber of his being. They’re just trying to help, he shouldn’t be so ungrateful. He doesn’t deserve for them to care, just as he doesn’t deserve the food in front of him. But he’s tired, too tired to make any excuses to get out of eating, and too tired to purge it later (not that he could with how Doyoung basically sleeps with his ear pressed against the bathroom wall now).

Robotically, Donghyuck dissects his food until it is in misshapen, bite-size chunks. He chews and swallows, each bite harder than the last. It feels very clinical.

Most of all, he misses the pain.

—

It’s not grand or dramatic when it happens. There’s no sobs or anguish. He just does it and he feels better.

Donghyuck  _ likes  _ hurting. He  _ likes  _ the dangerous glint of steel, and how blood beads from fresh wounds. He  _ likes _ dragging the blade slow and hard against the supple flesh of his thigh and feeling his skin tear apart fiber by fiber.

He feels hollow and calm, in a way that he always craves. He smiles at Haeun the next day during therapy when she tells him he’s on track after weigh-in. He pretends to preen under Mark’s praise when he says how  _ happy  _ he is that Donghyuck is looking  _ healthier. _

Line, after line, after line.

Donghyuck lets water from the shower cascade over open wounds and older scars. Blood mixes with water until he’s standing in a puddle tinged an ugly pink.

He’s terrified.

But he needs this.

—

“Here you go, Hyuck.” Jungwoo smiles as he passes Donghyuck a slice of cake.

“Thanks.” Donghyuck grits out, ignoring the frantic urge to stab someone with his stupid party hat. It’s Mark’s birthday, he  _ has  _ to be good. He can’t let this day become another one ruined because of him.

“You don’t like the cake?” Mark frowns in a way that makes Donghyuck want to fucking  _ bleed _ .

From across the table Johnny gazes at him in a way that says  _ don’t ruin this, or else. _ It makes his spine go ramrod straight, and he feels his hand retrieving the fork from the table.

“No, I do.” Donghyuck replies, and forces himself to take a bite even though he’s one forkful away from a breakdown. “It’s great.”

He digs his fingers into the tops of his thighs, takes a deep breath, and flashes a magazine-worthy grin.

He should be better than this by now. 

(Later that night, his blood is dark and thick with the remorse and guilt that threatens to suffocate him. 

It’s peaceful.)

—

“Mark.” Donghyuck murmurs as Mark’s warm lips press against his own. 

Mark simply hums in reply as Donghyuck feels himself go pliant beneath the gentle hands that rest respectfully on the small of his back. 

“Don’t…” Donghyuck whimpers when Mark starts to lightly bite at the side of his neck. “You can’t leave any marks.” 

“I won’t.” Mark assures him, lapping kittenishly at Donghyuck’s collarbone. 

“I’ve never…” Donghyuck’s breath hitches when Mark pulls him closer so that Donghyuck is sitting in his lap, the bed creaking beneath their weight.

“What?” Mark gasps between kisses.

“I’ve never been kissed like  _ this  _ before.” Donghyuck keens when their hips brush together. It’s absolutely  _ electric _ . “You make me feel so  _ loved _ .”

“That’s because I love you, silly.”

Donghyuck flushes, it’s not the first time Mark has told him, but it’s so much more intimate this time. He exhales and Mark breathes him in.

Mark cheekily darts his tongue into Donghyuck’s mouth. Donghyuck moans into the kiss and lets his mouth fall open further. Mark tastes like vanilla and cinnamon.

Distantly Donghyuck recalls the cold, corpse-like lips of his first kiss and the bitter taste it left in the back of his throat. 

This is incomparably better. It’s euphoric. He feels shivers rush up his spine, heat pools within him as he fills with  _ want.  _

“You’re crying.” Mark says softly, tenderly thumbing away the tears on his cheeks. “Is this too much?”

Donghyuck’s hands are shaking so he fists them in Mark’s shirt. “No, this is perfect. I just love you so much.”

“I know.” Mark smiles and pulls him impossibly closer.

Donghyuck sinks his teeth lightly into Mark’s swollen, pink lips and savors the noise it elicits from Mark: high-pitched at first, but deepening into a rumbling growl. 

“I’m trying to keep this wholesome, but you’re not making it easy.” Mark mutters as he nibbles along the column of Donghyuck’s throat.

Mark smooths his hands over the tops of Donghyuck’s legs. Donghyuck is wearing thick sweatpants but for a second he panics. Maybe Mark will feel the gauze or scars that mar his skin. But then, Mark’s hands return to cup at the back of Donghyuck’s neck and he’s out of the danger zone again.

Without warning, Johnny opens the door and steps into the room. “Hey, guys.”

“Hi?” Donghyuck coughs awkwardly, as Mark jumps away from him. 

Johnny walks over to his desk and begins to rummage through some of the crap there. “Have you seen my Bluetooth speaker?”

Donghyuck shakes his head, dumbfounded.

“Whatever, I’ll just borrow it from Taeyong.” Johnny shrugs.

Before he can stop himself, Donghyuck blurts out. “You don’t care?”

Mark makes a strangled noise and pinches his side.

“About what?” Johnny cocks his head, looking thoroughly puzzled.

“Y’know.” Donghyuck clears his throat. “About me and Mark?”

“You guys haven’t been subtle about it. I already had my suspicions.” Johnny says.

“You’re fine with me being—“

“What the fuck? I’m not an asshole. I don’t care who you guys date. Just don’t have sex in my bed and it’s cool.” Johnny cuts him off, completely unbothered. “But maybe lock the door next time.”

“Okay.” Mark squeaks.

“Yep.” Johnny replies awkwardly. “Well, I should go—uh—talk to Taeyong. About the speaker. Treat each other well, I guess?” 

“Thanks. We will.” Donghyuck answers tersely.

“Bye?” Johnny asks before scrambling out of the room, accidentally knocking his shoulder into the door frame.

_ “What the fuck.” _ Donghyuck buries his face into his hands for ten seconds before turning to Mark. “First Jungwoo figured it out, and now him? Are we really that obvious?”

Mark’s eyes are wide and with shock, as he very obviously tries to comprehend what just happened. He opens his mouth to respond, but quickly snaps it shut. Painstakingly, yet artfully, he dabs.

Donghyuck shoves him out of the bed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Featuring Johnny! Our favorite cockblock!
> 
> I gave y’all some fluff and crack because I feel like I’ve been too mean to Hyuck lately. Muahaha >:)


	7. Stay Gold

“Hyuck.” Donghyuck hears Mark gasp behind him.

“Don’t look.” Donghyuck curses under his breath and grabs his robe from the hook it hangs on. Frantically, he pulls it on, feeling fairly certain that he’s wearing it inside out. 

“What the fuck?” Mark whispers. He reaches out to Donghyuck but doesn’t touch him, as though he’s confronting a beaten animal.

Donghyuck hangs his head to avoid Mark’s gaze. His hair is still wet from the shower and the droplets that slide against his skin feel warm like fresh blood. The white gauze twisted around the sallow flesh of his thigh is neatly and evenly wrapped, but already is tainted with red. 

It was a bad day. 

“You’re supposed to be getting better.” Mark’s voice is sharp, and it cuts right through Donghyuck’s heart. 

“I am.” Maybe he isn’t, but that wouldn’t be such a problem if he could learn how to lock his fucking door. “I’m just not having a great day.”

“Tell me you didn’t. _Please._ Donghyuck you have to tell me it’s not what it looks like. You can’t hurt yourself. _You can’t.”_ There’s a hysterical edge to Mark’s voice that makes Donghyuck want to drown himself in the tub. 

“I’m sorry.”

“I can see your bones. I know that you’re small, and it’s one thing to feel them, but—“ Mark’s voice breaks. “I can count your fucking ribs.”

“I’m not _that_ small, okay?” Donghyuck replies defensively before sighing. “Really, I’ve been eating, I’m getting better.”

“You’re not!” Mark swipes at his cheeks furiously. “This isn’t getting better. You’re not supposed to hurt yourself.”

“I’m not going to kill myself or anything.” Donghyuck says. Not really because he believes it but because it’s what he _has_ to say. “I’m not doing it deep enough to really be dangerous. Yeah, it bleeds and it’ll probably scar, but it’s not a big deal.”

_“Not a big deal!?”_ Mark shrieks. “Don’t you understand how bad this is? How much it hurts me to see you do this?”

“I don’t want to fight. I’m sorry. I didn’t want you to find out like this.” Donghyuck grabs at Mark’s hand desperately.

“Would you have even told me at all? You’re supposed to talk to me, when you feel like this. Not do… this. I’ve always been so open with you, can’t you at least _try_ to be honest with me?!”

“I’m sorry.” Donghyuck answers emotionlessly. It feels like ‘sorry’ is becoming his catchphrase lately.

_“Oh god._ What if you need stitches? We should go to the hospital.” Mark grabs his elbow and tries to pull him but Donghyuck stands his ground.

“Mark. I don’t need stitches, really.” Donghyuck insists. “Calm down. I’m okay. I promise.”

“How do you know?” Mark’s lip trembles. “Fucking hell, _why_ are you so sure? I hate that.”

“Yeah.” Donghyuck digs his nails into the palm of his hand and feels the skin break. 

“Just, _why?_ Why are you doing this to yourself?” Mark lets go of him and takes a shuddering breath. 

“I’m sorry.” Donghyuck stares at the place where the wall meets the ceiling. If he looks at Mark he knows that he’ll cry.

“Stop fucking apologizing and tell me you’ll stop this shit!” Mark screeches. “Do you even care about yourself?”

“Not really.” Donghyuck mumbles, blinking away tears that spring to his eyes.

“Hyuck, you can’t say that. _You can’t._ You can’t do this to me!” Mark sobs into his shoulder, pounding a weak fist against his chest. “I love you, but you _have_ to care about yourself. I can’t do that for you, you can’t ask that of me.”

“I’m not asking that of you. Fucking hell, Mark. I’m just tired of this. It would be easier if I just didn’t exist anymore.” Donghyuck clamps his mouth shut. “Shit, I didn’t mean that.”

“This is what I mean! You can’t put this pressure on me.” Mark sobs. 

“Mark—“ Donghyuck begins, but Mark interrupts him.

“Do you have a plan? If you do, you have to tell someone. It doesn’t even have to be me, but I need to know if you’re safe right now.”

“No, _God no._ It’s nothing like that. I don’t really think about it that much.” Donghyuck places a hand over Mark’s. “I’m not going anywhere.”

“How can I believe you? You’re able to take a fucking blade to your skin. Even if you don’t mean to, you could really hurt yourself.” Mark pulls Donghyuck closer and whispers in his ear, _“Please._ I can’t lose you.”

“I’m not doing this to kill myself, or even leave much permanent damage. I just—“ Donghyuck’s breath hitches. “I just like to bleed, I guess.”

“Oh, Hyuck.” Mark sobs. “I’m sorry. I’m so _fucking_ sorry.”

“It’s so stupid. I’m sorry though, y’know. You shouldn’t have to deal with this.” Donghyuck laughs remorsefully. “I don’t get why you’re even dating me.”

“Shut up, dumbass. I love you, whether you like it or not.” Mark sniffles, huffing petulantly. 

“You _shouldn’t.”_ Donghyuck says, a whine edging into his tone. “I’m going to fuck everything everything up like I always do. Don’t you understand that?”

“Hey, don’t talk about my boyfriend like that.” Mark laughs bitterly through his tears. “Really, though. Don’t talk about yourself like that. You’re just going through a rough patch. But I’m in it for the long haul, I promise.”

“Don’t say that. You can’t promise me that.” Donghyuck protests weakly.

Wordless Mark links their pinkies together and brings Donghyuck’s hand to his mouth, pressing a light kiss against his knuckles. “Just promise me that you’ll stop.”

“It’s not that easy.” 

“Then—fuck, I don’t know—tell Haeun about this. You can’t do nothing.”

“Mark…” Donghyuck sighs.

“Promise me.” Mark pleads. 

Donghyuck crosses his fingers behind his back and nods.

—

Donghyuck can’t remember if everything always hurt this much. Nothing is even out of the ordinary in his increasingly pathetic life. But his daydreams of death are deadly and persistent. Ones that are cruel and thirst for blood. Ones that come out when he is so lonely that it aches in his bones. 

He’s scared and miserable. Everyday it feels like he’s losing himself. Maybe it makes him weak, but without the bite of hunger he doesn’t know who he is. He feels lost. He doesn’t want to get better. He doesn’t want to do this. _He can’t._

So Donghyuck does what he does best

He runs.

—

“Donghyuck!” Jungwoo pants, flashlight swinging in his grip.

Donghyuck doesn’t face him. The waves that crash beneath the bridge are dark and inviting. The white crests which form are beautiful in ways that are artful and poetic. It’s no wonder that most of the poems he has read were about the lethal beauty of sadness. There’s a certain exquisiteness to the nearness of death that Donghyuck can appreciate as his legs dangle limply above certain fatality.

He had a feeling that Jungwoo would find him. They’re on a bridge near the park. It’s a place that only they have been before.

“What are you doing?” Jungwoo calls, nervously shifting his weight from foot to foot. The silence is awkward, with only the whistling wind to break the silence.

Donghyuck doesn’t answer. He feels a gust pulse against him and he teeters forward a bit on the guard rail. The metal is slick with rain and he is frail. It would be easy to slip. 

“You’re scaring me. Please. Get down from there.” Jungwoo stands on the concrete road behind Donghyuck. Close yet far, simultaneously.

“Jungwoo.” Donghyuck rasps. “Did you know that drowning is supposed to feel euphoric?”

“Don’t say shit like that! Why are you saying this!?” Jungwoo asks, panic slipping into his tone. “Just get down from there. We can fix this.”

“I have rocks in my pockets.” It’s not an answer, and yet it says everything. Donghyuck still doesn’t face Jungwoo. _He can’t._ “I’m really scared, Jungwoo.”

_“Fuck.”_ Donghyuck hears Jungwoo mutter, before he hears the clatter of the flashlight hit the ground. 

“What are you doing?” Donghyuck leans slightly closer to the water, almost imperceptibly. 

“I don’t fucking know.” Tears are streaming down Jungwoo’s face as he climbs onto the railing beside Donghyuck. 

Distantly, Donghyuck thinks he should be the one crying.

_“Christ.”_ Jungwoo mutters, glancing at the Donghyuck’s bloodshot eyes and the dark bruises beneath them. “What’s going on here, Hyuck?”

“I can’t.” Donghyuck’s hands are clammy against the cool metal of the bridge.

“Can’t what? Please, you have to give me something to work with here.”

Donghyuck forces himself to look at Jungwoo. “You have to promise me something.” He takes a shuddering breath. “That you’ll make sure Mark is okay.”

“Donghyuck, don’t say that.” Jungwoo pleads. 

“Promise me.” Donghyuck repeats. 

“I can’t. I can’t promise that. How can I promise that when I wouldn’t even be okay?” Tears, each one silver and glistening in the moonlight, slide down Jungwoo’s cheeks. _“Please._ I can’t lose you.” Jungwoo says, in a way scarily similar to Mark.

“Stop trying to use my own feelings against me.” Donghyuck grits out slowly. “I didn’t want you to find me. Leave.”

“I’m not going anywhere.”

Donghyuck ignores him.

“Can I touch you?” 

Donghyuck crosses his arms over his chest, but doesn’t pull away when Jungwoo places a featherlight hand on his shoulder. Carefully—since they’re just one gust away from being carried into the choppy river below—Jungwoo pulls Donghyuck against his chest and rests his chin on Donghyuck’s scalp.

Donghyuck 

fucking

_breaks._

“I can’t.” He sobs into Jungwoo’s thin cotton shirt. _“I can’t, I can’t, I can’t.”_

“Shhh.” Jungwoo hushes him, and runs gentle fingers through his hair. “I’m here. I’m here. You’re okay.” 

“I’m not.” Donghyuck wails, clawing at Jungwoo’s shoulders. 

“You are.” Jungwoo insists. “Because I’m here and I got you.”

“Please. I can’t do this anymore.”

“I know, I know.” Jungwoo murmurs tenderly.

“I don’t want to keep living like this. Please. Make it stop.” Donghyuck feels strong arms wrap around his torso and lift him over the barrier. It’s only when they are standing safely in a grassy patch beside the bridge that Donghyuck notices that Jungwoo’s hands are shaking.

All the fight in Donghyuck’s limbs give out and he lets himself crumple to the ground. “I’m so tired.” He whimpers brokenly.

Jungwoo drops to his knees in front of Donghyuck and pulls the other into his lap. Suddenly, Donghyuck feels incredibly small and foolish. “Were you really going to jump?” 

“I don’t know.”

“Why did you come here then?”

“I don’t know.” Donghyuck repeats. “It just hurts. Everything _hurts_ so fucking much. And I’m tired.”

“I’m glad I got here before you did anything.” Jungwoo inhales but it rattles in his chest. “You could’ve died tonight. You might’ve been dead right now.”

“Yeah.” Donghyuck whispers.

“I don’t know what to do and I’m fucking terrified.” Jungwoo admits shakily. 

“I’m sorry.” Donghyuck chants the words silently over and over again and buries his face in Jungwoo’s neck. 

“Do you still want to do it?”

“Not really, kinda. I don’t know.” Donghyuck mumbles. What he doesn’t say is how he can’t stop thinking about the thrashing currents and the violent sharpness of the waves and the viciousness of the water. It haunts him. It’s everything he does and doesn’t want.

Perhaps what is more painful than dying, is not living, but rather surviving. The sickly sweetness of death lingers in the back of his throat, reminding him of everything that is and everything that isn’t.

He’s alive, he’s alive, he’s alive.

—

“Hyuck, you have to get out of bed.” Johnny says as he pulls on a pair of track pants.

“Do I really? I don’t have therapy for another hour and obviously I’m not going to dance practice with you.” Donghyuck groans.

“Excessive sleeping isn’t healthy, you know.”

“Just let me enjoy my temporary death.” Donghyuck buries his face in his pillow.

Johnny chokes on his spit as though he has been sucker punched in the gut. “Don’t say stuff like that.” He snaps.

“Why not? It’s been like a month. I’m allowed to joke about it.” 

_“Three weeks.”_ Johnny corrects him sharply. “And you shouldn’t.”

“There are no bridges around here, you don’t need to be worried about me.” Donghyuck laughs bitterly. 

Johnny stares at him blankly. It’s obvious that he’s struggling to comprehend how fucked up Donghyuck is.

“That’s messed up.” Johnny finally replies. “I’m here to listen to you if you want. I just want you to be safe.”

“Yeah, well _I’m_ messed up.” Donghyuck counters. “Thanks, though. I’m fine, really. You should get to practice.”

“Donghyuck…” Johnny trails off apprehensively. “Will you be okay alone?”

“The managers are here.” Donghyuck replies wanly.

“That doesn’t answer my question.”

Donghyuck shrugs in reply, as if to say _‘can’t do anything about that.’_

“Fine. I have to go, but text one of us if you need anything.” 

Donghyuck sits up in bed and salutes halfheartedly. When the door clicks shut, Donghyuck flops back against his pillows. 

Eventually, he rolls out of bed and goes to the kitchen. His manager is already there and sips his coffee pleasantly while he watches Donghyuck choke down a bowl of granola and milk. The cocktail of drugs his psychiatrist put him on scrape down his esophagus like a bunch of sea urchins. Multiple times, he catches himself zoning out—or dissociating, he can’t really tell. Maybe it’s the pills.

He’s tired in a way that is cold and numbing. It’s a feeling that makes his thoughts cloudy and his fingers ache for the blade between his mattress and box spring that he should’ve thrown out a month ago. This is something only Mark knows about. But Mark isn’t here for Donghyuck to lean on.

Before he can bite his tongue, he finds himself saying. “I have a blade in my room.”

“Excuse me?” His manager frowns.

“Can I give it to you? Please?”

He gets a solemn nod in reply, and he’s scurrying away to retrieve it before he can chicken out.

“Thanks.” His manager quickly pockets it. “Do you need me to check your room for more?”

“No.” Donghyuck answers honestly. 

“Alright.” His manager clears his throat awkwardly. “I’m glad you told me. I have to alert Haeun about this, though.” 

Donghyuck nods wordlessly, focused on convincing himself that this was the right decision and that eating an entire jar of peanut butter would be a _very bad idea._

—

At some point, Donghyuck’s pain starts to take the shape of something different. Still pain, of course. He’s not someone lucky or good enough for it to morph into a fighting spirit or determination. But it’s different than before. 

“What’s on your mind, baby?” Mark asks sweetly. 

They’re on the roof of the building, sitting on a towel. It’s windy, so their makeshift picnic blanket rustles furiously against their legs. Absentmindedly, Donghyuck fiddles with a dead leaf that landed by his shin. Fall is coming.

“A lot. Nothing. I don’t know.” Donghyuck sighs and leans his head on Mark’s shoulder. “What about you?”

Mark smiles slightly and stares at the clouds moseying across the horizon. “That I’m proud of you.”

“Don’t—“ 

“Stop it and let me say my bit. I’m not going to sit here and let you diminish the progress you’ve made.” Mark takes his hand and laces their fingers together. “I’m just really proud.”

“Thank you.” Donghyuck answers quietly, idly tracing the pale pink scars that poke out from where his shorts have ridden up. He wonders when they’ll stop looking so fresh, he doesn’t think they’ll ever stop feeling that way.

“I’m not just saying it, y’know?” 

“I just feel like I should be better than this by now.” Donghyuck’s breath hitches, his pain rearing its ugly head. “I have a lot of regret. It’s hard wishing you could just undo everything. Or redo, I guess. It just sucks knowing that I’m not living the life I want to be. That I’m wasting my time being unhappy. I feel stuck. Things could be better than this, and the only thing stopping that from happening is me. My own faults.”

“Is that such a bad thing, though? I’m not saying it’s good that you feel this way. I’m just kinda glad that you actually regret some of this stuff? You know what I mean?” 

“Yeah.” Donghyuck laughs halfheartedly. “It’d be strange if I didn’t regret making myself suffer. Contrary to how it might seem, I’m not a masochist.”

“Good to know.” Mark rolls his eyes, but gently pries Donghyuck’s fingers away from the flesh of his thigh. “I regret some of this, too.”

“Yeah?” Donghyuck breathes.

Mark nods. “Nothing between us, _obviously._ But I regret not noticing sooner, not seeing through your lies, or not calling you out on them at least.” 

“That’s not your job.”

Mark doesn’t reply, probably because he doesn’t have anything witty or good to say. Instead he pulls Donghyuck onto his lap and holds him close.

“Stop. I’m heavy.” Donghyuck complains, trying to wiggle out of Mark’s grasp, but it’s futile and only makes the arms around him tighten.

“Not heavy.” Mark says sternly.

“Theoretically, I’m not heavy.” Donghyuck sighs. This is a can of worms he doesn’t feel like opening right now.

_“Theoretically,_ you just admitted that you aren’t heavy, which is almost positive self talk. So, I’ll cut my losses and take what I can get.” 

_“Theoretically,_ I want to slap you halfway to Sunday.” Donghyuck answers haughtily. He bites his lip, glad Mark can’t see how he’s fighting to grin. It wouldn’t do much to help him seem intimidating. 

_“Theoretically.”_ Mark nods sagely, voice serious, like the dork he is. At this point, Donghyuck doesn’t even know if Mark is joking.

Donghyuck can’t help it. Laughter bubbles up from his chest. It’s raucous and bright. The sunset warms him from his core to his fingertips.

“I love you, Mark.” Donghyuck turns and presses their foreheads together, cheeks flush with life. “My golden boy.”

“Don’t call me that.” Mark says, but doesn’t really mean it. 

“You know you like it.” 

“Whatever.” Mark rolls his eyes. 

“What would you prefer I call you? Midas?” Donghyuck snorts.

“Didn’t he accidentally murder his daughter?” Mark’s lips torque up at the corners fondly.

“Irrelevant.”

_“Yours.”_ Mark says, looking excessively smug.

“Huh? What?”

“Call me yours.” Mark winks, because he’s nothing if not a cheesy bastard.

“You’re such a sap.” Donghyuck laughs. 

Mark presses a sweet kiss to his lips and any other insults die in Donghyuck’s throat. It’s the taste of warm peaches left in a sunny window. It’s the way light shimmers on the Han River like millions of floating diamonds. It’s a steaming mug of hot chocolate between sweater-clad palms in the dead of winter. It’s love. It’s Mark.

Donghyuck feels himself turn to gold. 

—

There’s still a scale in the tenth floor dorm. The one on the fifth floor disappeared a while ago. For good reason, he supposes. 

Donghyuck knows he shouldn’t. He came up here to retrieve his phone from where he forgot it in the couch cushions last night. That’s it. Doyoung is waiting for him downstairs to go out for lunch. But he can’t help himself, and before he knows it, a number which is too high is blinking back at him. 

It’s a number that erases all of Donghyuck’s hard work and suffering. He’s toeing the line of healthy and he hates it. A voice that yearns for blood and hunger calls out to him, _come back to me._

Maybe it’s because he’s tired of being hungry and cold and hating himself all the damn time, but he finds himself begrudgingly accepting it. He hates the number on the scale, but he felt that way when it was lower and felt that way when it was higher. He’s slowly realizing that nothing fucking matters anyway so he may as well go out to lunch with Doyoung. 

Sure, he’s one hard glare away from finding out just how ticklish his corroded artery is, but he’s not there yet, and that alone is an undeniable win. 

Harsh knocks startle him out of his thoughts. “Did you fall in or something?”

“Sorry.” Donghyuck calls, and quickly unlocks the door. 

Jaehyun stands in front of the doorway, expression placid as usual, but there’s something softer in his eyes. Something that _knows._ “Are you alright?” He places a hand on Donghyuck’s shoulder.

Donghyuck opens his mouth to respond but the words die in his throat. Guilt builds in his chest like a thick sludge. He’s tired. Of lying. Of being miserable and making everyone else around him miserable too.

Finally, he settles on, “I will be.”

Jaehyun’s eyes crinkle at the corners.

  
  


—

“I think it would be good for you to resume vocal lessons.” Haeun says casually during one of their sessions.

“What? Really?” Donghyuck twists his neck to face her so quickly he wonders if he gave himself whiplash.

“Of course, I spoke with both your manager and doctor and they okay-ed it. Unless you’re opposed, you’ve made enough progress to start getting back to it.” Haeun smiles, perfect teeth on display. “If you feel ready, we can also cut down on how much we meet, so that you’re not spread too thin.”

“I’d really like that.” Donghyuck says. “What about dance?”

“What about it?” Haeun replies cryptically.

“I’m not cleared for it, am I?” Donghyuck deflates. He already knows the answer.

“One thing at a time, okay? Let’s not rush into everything at once. See how your vocal lessons go, and the moment you’re ready for physical activity again, I’ll let you know.” Haeun assures him.

—

Donghyuck didn’t realize how much he had missed singing until he started again. It’s been a while since the last time he sang, and even longer since the last time he actually _enjoyed_ it, given that the past few comebacks he’s been barely schlepping along. 

But with most things, Donghyuck is insatiable. He can hear the music playing from the practice rooms after vocal lessons and it pains him to not be able to join. He’s more than a singer, he’s a dancer, he’s an _idol._ What irks him the most is that he has parts in the comeback song. Parts that he recorded before he got _bad_. Parts that he’s not allowed to perform. 

At least Jungwoo is getting more lines by covering his.

Haeun gave him an inch, and though he feels bad, he’ll be damned if he doesn’t take a mile.

“Donghyuck? What are you doing here?” Taeyong says the moment Donghyuck has a foot in the door, seven other sets of eyes watching them.

“I’m just here to watch.” Donghyuck replies, putting his hands up defensively.

“Well, are you cleared for that?” Taeyong crosses his arms over his chest.

“Yeah?” Donghyuck shrugs. Technically, Haeun didn’t say he couldn’t _watch_ practices, just that he couldn’t participate in them. (Though Donghyuck really knows that she would’ve said ‘no’ had he actually asked _.)_

“Would you leave if I asked you to?”

“Probably not.” Donghyuck tries not to smirk, because he knows he just won.

Taeyong closes his eyes and pinches the bridge of his nose, grappling with the amount of bullshit Donghyuck is presenting to him. With a sigh huffed through his nose, he jabs a thumb in the direction of a folding chair in the corner. He doesn’t say anything, and neither does the rest of the group who has been blatantly gaping at the exchange. 

Donghyuck decides this is as close to a warm welcome as he’ll get, so he makes himself comfortable in the cheap plastic chair. His spine digs into the seat in a way that he isn’t supposed to like anymore. 

The song seems like it shouldn’t be able to be danced to, and yet once the group starts dancing, Donghyuck can’t understand why he thought otherwise. It’s mesmerizing to watch his members dance as a spectator rather than being part of it himself. They all move with power and grace, yet each with their own style. 

Then, he realizes it. NCT would be fine without him. He’s a dead weight: nothing special and actively holding the group back. He’s selfish to want to join them.

He tremors with a need to bleed and bruise, smooth wrists delicate and enticing.

Donghyuck leaves during a water break.

He wonders if anyone even noticed.

—

Donghyuck comes back time and time again, because he’s a stubborn idiot with no sense of self preservation.

He’s sulking in the back when it happens.

Taeil is strutting in front of the mirror during his part while the others flank him in the typical main vocal way. Their comeback is in just two weeks so dance practices are getting longer and longer by the day. Donghyuck has seen the dance for the title track so many times he could probably do it in his sleep. (He actually knows it really well. Well enough that after everyone else has left, he secretly runs through it in the studio.)

Then the formation is changing and Mark is on the floor. It’s so quick that Donghyuck isn’t even sure how it happened.

“Kill the music.” Taeyong orders and the room falls silent. 

Donghyuck surges toward Mark and kneels by his side, desperately twisting their fingers together. Mark glares at the ceiling, but squeezes Donghyuck’s hand in a way that could only mean _thanks._

“Give him some space.” Johnny barks, somewhat hypocritically as he joins Donghyuck and Taeyong at Mark’s side. 

“I’m fine, I’m fine.” Mark says, but it’s not convincing since he’s starfished on the floor and his foot is pointing in the _wrong_ direction. 

“What hurts?” Yuta asks, squatting beside Mark’s feet.

“My ego mostly.” Mark flashes a pained smile, deflecting worry with humor in a way that is supposed to be Donghyuck’s brand. “But my ankle has definitely felt better.”

“No knee pain?” 

“Just the ankle.” Mark answers.

“That’s good. I mean not _good_ , but ankle pain is better than knee pain. When I was training in soccer, I saw so many athletes taken out by a torn ACL. That’s just something you can never fully come back from.” Yuta speaks calmly and evenly, but his fingers are trembling. Donghyuck forgets sometimes that Yuta was an athlete before he was an idol and knows a helluva lot more about injuries than the rest of them.

_“Lucky me.”_ Mark deadpans and lets his head fall back against the floor with a smack.

“I’ll go get a manager.” Taeil says, seeming to regain his bearings, and hurrying out the door.

“Try rotating it.” Yuta tells Mark stoically.

“I can’t.” Mark chokes out, only managing to wiggle his foot a little bit. “I felt it pop when I went down. D’you think it’s dislocated.”

Yuta pokes at Mark's swollen ankle a bit, lip pulled between his teeth in concentration. “Sorry, sorry.” He says when Mark hisses in pain.

Finally, Yuta says. “No, I don’t feel anything poking out, so it’s probably not dislocated.”

“What’s wrong then?” Johnny asks gruffly, anger making his tone sharp and threatening. 

“Chill, dude. I’m not a doctor, it could be just a sprain or it could be broken. I also wouldn’t be surprised if he tore a ligament or tendon or shit.” 

“Oh.” Mark says quietly. His gaze is distant and his face has a sickly ashen pallor. “What about the comeback?”

“Mark…” Donghyuck pushes Mark’s sweaty bangs away from his face.

Mark ignores him. “Tell me I’ll recover by then. I _have_ to. We’re already down one member as it is, and there’s not enough time to change everything for a seven-person comeback.”

Donghyuck’s breath hitches and he hangs his head. It’s hard enough knowing how much he’s holding back the group, but hearing it from _Mark—_ who knows his best kept secrets, who knows all that he struggles with _—_ hurts indescribably more. Icy flames of guilt rush through his veins. 

“Sorry, Hyuck. I wasn’t trying to make you feel bad. This just sucks.” 

“It’s fine, it’s fine.” Donghyuck insists, even though it _isn’t._

Yuta sighs. “Even if it’s just a sprain, it’ll be _weeks_ until it’s healed, and that’s not even taking into consideration any physical therapy you could need.”

“We don’t have weeks, we don’t have that kind of time. _Please,_ just tell me it’ll be okay.” Mark pleads between labored breaths that are more likely from panic than exertion.

No one responds.

_“Fuck.”_ Mark cries softly and screws his eyes shut.

Two managers show up and have Mark sling an arm over each of their shoulders. They order the rest of the group to go home. Donghyuck feels his heart break in two when he watches _his strong, wonderful Mark_ hobble down the hallway. Mark has supported him through so much pain, and Donghyuck just can’t seem to repay his debt. Not even now. Not even when it matters.

Mark’s sobs echo in Donghyuck’s mind.

Slowly, everyone trickles out of the studio until it’s just Donghyuck and Taeyong. 

“I can fill in for Mark. I know the dance, so I can mouth along to his part or something, or cover the part of someone that knows how to rap. Jungwoo can even keep my lines if that’s easier.” Donghyuck grabs Taeyong’s sleeve, fully expecting Taeyong to turn away, or say _‘Not now, Donghyuck.’_

Instead, Taeyong swallows roughly and pulls Donghyuck into the hallway. “You’re not supposed to be dancing yet.”

“I’m getting better. I can be ready in two weeks, I promise.”

Taeyong is silent. He roughly scrubs his face with his hands and groans. “Christ, I can’t believe I’m saying this.” He mutters. _“Fine._ We can talk about it with management. See what they think, because at this point it might be our only option.”

Donghyuck nods solemnly. _He has to get better._ He’s not ready for a comeback. He’s not ready to take recovery by storm. But it might not be his choice anymore.

“This isn’t a ‘yes.’ We’re still going to see what the other options are.” 

“I understand. Really, I get it.” Donghyuck answers. “I know it’s not ideal but I’ll do anything I can to help you guys with the comeback.”

Taeyong doesn’t acknowledge him. “Come on, we’ll go talk to management now. No sense in waiting.”

—

“We got the X-ray back. It could be worse, but it’s not great.” Their manager‘s voice comes from the speaker of Taeyong’s phone and they all crowd around it. “He has a second degree sprained ankle. Basically, he has a partial tear in two of his ligaments so he’s gonna have to wear a boot.”

“How soon will he be back on his feet?” Taeyong asks, chewing his lip nervously. 

“Doctor says a month minimum until he can resume regular activity. It’ll be longer until he can do anything even _close_ to performing.” Commotion and rustling crackles through the phone. “We’ll talk more later, after I speak to the higher-ups. Goodbye.”

The call disconnects. 

Taeyong doesn’t say anything to Donghyuck, but he knows everything is about to change.

—

“It was decided that the comeback cannot be pushed back until Mark recovers.” Their manager stands before them as they sit in the fifth floor living room. It feels vaguely like a first grade classroom.

“So, are we promoting as seven, then?” Doyoung asks.

“No, eight.”

“Mark can’t just sit there, though. That might be okay at a concert but not for a comeback stage.” Jaehyun frowns.

“Sorry. I should clarify, Donghyuck will be rejoining you guys.” The manager explains patiently.

Hell breaks loose.

“He’s not ready. And what about his therapy sessions?” Jungwoo demands crossly. 

“Yeah, what the hell?” Jaehyun crosses his arms. “We can promote as seven. We can figure it out.” 

“Who the fuck even authorized this? It certainly wasn’t a medical professional.” Johnny snarls. 

“Donghyuck actually came to us. He thinks he’s ready. It’s the best option.” The manager says placatingly.

“He thinks a lot of things, doesn’t he?” Johnny mutters.

“Stop talking about me like I’m not even here. I know it’s not a great option, but I’m going to do the best I can.” Donghyuck says.

Taeyong places a reassuring hand on Donghyuck’s shoulder. “The best thing we can do right now is support each other.”

Jungwoo snorts in a way that makes it clear he thinks it’s all bullshit. 

Donghyuck wrings his fingers anxiously. Briefly, he wonders if it’s too late to back out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WOW! That was a rollercoaster huh
> 
> Stay Gold could be a reference to all the gold imagery & allusions I included, or to the famous line “Stay gold, Ponyboy” (from the outsiders aka the best book ever), or to BTS smash hit Japanese single. Take your pick.
> 
> I definitely didn’t revise this enough but I felt bad for making y’all wait so here it is! I was busy with college stuff (class of ‘24 what’s good broski) and being a depressed biss <3
> 
> This is both my favorite and least favorite chapter... so I hope y’all liked it I guess??This chapter is also a bit longer than usual (~5.5k vs ~4.7k) to make up for the wait a bit :)
> 
> Stay safe and healthy!! Lots of love <333


	8. Covered in the Colors Pulled Apart at the Seams

Donghyuck ends up covering Mark’s part in the song, since he knows that specific choreo best. (Because he can never keep his eyes off Mark during practices.) He feels stupid as hell mouthing along to the rap, but he admittedly doesn’t have a good tone or flow, so lip syncing is still better than embarrassing himself on live television. Mark hobbles to the studio with crutches one night and tries to teach him some hand gestures to do so that he has swag or something, but they only make him  _ look _ stupid too. 

At the very least, this comeback will be an interesting one.

What were once hour-long practices stretch until they occupy the entire day, and on top of that they have pre-promotional activities, and a plethora of other shit since Donghyuck missed literally everything. It’s unprecedented for an idol to start official preparations two weeks before a comeback, but Donghyuck has never been one to do what’s expected of him.

He’s so busy that it’s almost easy. Eat what’s put in front of him. Wear the first pair of sweats he sees in the morning. Flop into bed at the end of the day, too tired to think, to cry, or to do anything besides sleep. Rinse and repeat.

But maybe the ease is what makes it so easy to start slipping. 

“Bye, Mark. Text me if you need anything.” Donghyuck pecks Mark on the lips and turns to leave for practice. 

“Wait, Hyuck.” Mark says from where he sits on the couch.

“What? I love you but the comeback is literally three days away, I gotta go.” Donghyuck starts to pull on his sneakers.

“Are you okay?” Mark asks softly.

“I’m good? But I’m also late.” Donghyuck smiles remorsefully. 

“I’m just worried you haven’t been taking care of yourself, baby.” Mark frowns. 

“It’s a comeback. No one takes care of themselves. I know for a fact Johnny isn’t even drinking water the day of the comeback stage. Gotta have those crispy abs and all that.” Donghyuck jokes.

“Just because the others crash diet or do shit like that, doesn’t mean you should.” 

“After everything you really think I don’t know that?” Donghyuck snaps. “Relax, you don’t need to be fucking breathing down my neck all the damn time.”

“Hyuck.” Mark says.

“What  _ Mark?”  _ Donghyuck mocks. 

“It’s just that, I can tell you’re losing weight again. It‘s noticeable and it hasn’t even been that long, which is why I’m concerned.” Pillows are piled beneath Mark’s leg and yet his posture is still rigid with worry.

Donghyuck purses his lips, torn between feeling immensely pleased and horrifically guilty. “I’m gonna level with you here. I didn’t even notice I lost weight. Shit, I’m  _ too busy  _ to notice.”

“So you’re not trying to lose weight?”

“No? I already told you that I’m not doing anything. Don’t be ridiculous.” Donghyuck scoffs. A part of him preens under the attention, though. Some things will never change. 

“I just wanted to make sure. That’s all.” Mark replies patiently. 

“Well, I’m fine. So, bye.” Donghyuck runs out the door before Mark can ask him another uncomfortable question.

But the thought doesn’t leave his mind. It festers and grows into a parasite that takes residence in his amygdala. He hadn’t even realized that he had lost weight. It’s strange, to have his dead obsession unearthed. 

Part of him is sad that he can’t enjoy it, as sick as it sounds. He likes that Mark is worried. He likes that it’s noticeable. He likes feeling small. Isn’t unintentional weight loss everything he could ever want?

Logically, knows he shouldn’t still feel this way—or shouldn’t want to at least—and that he should tell someone about it. But this has never been something rational.

Instead, Donghyuck decides that he’s too busy to deal with this right now. He ignores the feeling of mild dread that settles in his gut. He can just file these thoughts away for now. After all, they’re so close to the comeback, it would be counterproductive to bring up something like this. 

He just has to get through this, survive like he always has.

—

As much as Mark cares about him, he has physical therapy to go to and an injury to worry about. The rest of the group, and even the managers, are completely focused on the comeback. No one notices when Donghyuck’s stage outfits start to sag, or how he’ll collapse as soon as they get away from the cameras, or how he’s generally miserable. He takes it as a sign to keep going.

(Donghyuck is scared and struggling. And yet it feels like coming home.)

It's not a relapse, he’s just coping until things go back to normal.  _ It’s not a relapse,  _ he says to himself until the words are seared into the back of his eyelids. He won’t get caught, he can deal with this. His wrists are pale and his knuckles are smooth, because he knows how to fly undetected now. Even he hardly notices how old habits start to return, so how could anyone else?

He’s self aware enough to know that he’s not supposed to be doing this. But he’s still eating. It can’t really be that bad, not like how he was at his worst. Every idol goes through this, right?

Sometimes he wonders if telling Mark about his problems was a mistake. He doesn’t think he’ll ever feel like he doesn’t have to ruin himself just to prove that his problems are  _ real  _ and not a liar’s plea for attention.

“Donghyuck, you were a count behind during the pre-chorus.” Taeyong’s voice brings him back to reality. “We’re filming the dance practice later, fix it by then.”

“I know that I don’t have it down perfectly without you guys reminding me every two seconds!” Donghyuck doesn’t mean to raise his voice but he’s tired of always being ganged up on, always being the one who is made to feel slow and stupid.

“You’re the one that wanted to join the comeback. You said you could do this. You said you were ready.” Taeyong reminds him coldly. “I’ll stop scolding you when you start getting it right.  _ Fix it.” _

“You’re right, you’re right. It was my fault. Sorry.“ Donghyuck blinks away the dizziness that warps his vision and ignores the sudden urge he has to claw at his wrists. He just wants Taeyong to stop yelling at him.  _ Why is everyone yelling at him?  _ “I’ll have it down by then. I promise.”

“You better.” Taeyong replies, looking at Donghyuck as though he expects to be challenged. Contempt and poorly concealed anger seethes from Taeyong’s glare. “Don’t let us down.”

( _ Maybe he just hates me,  _ Donghyuck thinks giddily and vindictively.)

Donghyuck looks away. It’s unlike Taeyong to be so harsh with him. He must be  _ really  _ bad to warrant that. He fists his find purchase in the hem of his shirt, but his fingers ache with the need to sink into soft flesh. He’s such a fucking disappointment.

_ The don’t even want you here,  _ a voice, cruel and insidious, reminds him.  _ Your fault, it always is. _

The broken parts of him, fragments of irreparably shattered glass that he just can’t seem to piece back together, press against the inside of his skin and threaten to pierce through.  _ Come back to us, we’ll make it better,  _ they say.

—

“Are you feeling alright?” The stylist tells him, fretting over the bags under his eyes and the way his silk shirt hangs from his shoulders, billowing around his waist like a tent. “You look awful.”

“Isn’t it your job to make me look good?” Donghyuck snarks and immediately regrets it. 

_ “Hey.  _ I was just worried. My mistake.” She snaps, dabbing at his forehead with a powder brush a few more times before turning away, muttering something about him needing a miracle worker to look okay.

Donghyuck doesn’t even care. Or at least he tries to convince himself that he doesn’t, but tears burn behind his eyes. He always takes things too seriously. Always such a crybaby. He faces the mirror and runs his fingers along his collar bones and wraps his hands around his waist, and he feels better. He feels both trapped in his body and so far from it simultaneously, as though he’s watching his body move by its own volition, a spectator trapped in a cage. Arachnae ensnared in her own web.

No one else seems to notice. They’re in the middle of promotions, so they’re all busy, either sleeping, practicing, or performing. There’s no time to worry about anyone except yourself. Or maybe they just don’t care about him. Maybe he has exhausted all that they  _ can _ care about him. He shouldn’t need someone to hold his hand every step of the way.

(Donghyuck doesn’t want to do this again. He can’t deal with this anymore. He wants someone to notice. He needs someone to stop him because  _ he can’t.) _

Donghyuck smiles grimly at the mirror. Awful was too kind a word, and yet that makes him feel valid in the worst way.

—

Donghyuck barely makes it off the stage. Halfway through the chorus his ears had started to ring and nausea began to build in his chest. It’s a miracle that he even made it through the whole performance considering how he is closer to fainting than he has been in months. It’s dark and hectic backstage, so no one seems to notice him disappear into the sterile white hallway. 

_ Bathroom.  _ He needs a bathroom.

He stumbles down the hallway, frantically pushing past rookie idols and sunbaes alike until they blur into vague outlines and silhouettes of skinny jeans, chains, and pleated skirts. It’s all the same. There’s nothing special about any of this and it sickens Donghyuck to know how much he is a part of this  _ machine  _ in all its ruthlessness. How he is torturing himself for such a lackluster existence. How his meager legacy will be tainted by the mark of sickness.

The bright, fluorescent lights abuse his eyes and make his temples throb. He’s so disoriented that he can’t remember if the bathroom was even on this floor. He chokes on a sob of frustration when he rounds the corner and finds himself in the stairwell. Brightness pours in from the windows, the sky gray and hopeless.

He knows it’s irrational, but suddenly he can’t breathe around the panic and bile burning at the back of his tongue. 

_ There’s no escape from this,  _ he gets that now.

Next thing he knows, he’s vomiting onto the stairs. It’s miserable and some of it comes out of his nose. For someone who literally makes himself sick on the regular, it’s a bit strange how much he hates it when it happens not by choice.

It takes Donghyuck a few minutes to come back to his body. Luckily, no one seems to be around. He stares at the disgusting splatter by his feet. It’s repulsive.  _ He’s  _ repulsive. He knows he should probably get a janitor or some paper towels at the very least, but he’s ashamed and embarrassed. So, since he’s fucking gross, he flees before someone really does see him. Hopefully the security guards aren’t too diligent about watching the CCTV cameras.

(He can’t help but think all of this would be easier if he was someone else. The comeback, the interviews, just existing.)

He’s trembling uncontrollably by the time he returns to his group.

“You’re shaking.” Johnny says bluntly.

“I’m cold.” Donghyuck looks Johnny dead in the eye and lies. He isn’t cold at all. Beads of sweat are rolling down his spine and he feels so hot he’s nearly feverish. 

Johnny looks him over, and for a moment Donghyuck worries he’ll be called out for his blatant lie. But then Johnny nods and tells Donghyuck to put on an extra shirt or something. 

Donghyuck is realizing that it’s amazing what people will believe. Even if you’re a shit liar, they will always believe what they want to, especially if what they want is what you say. (And especially if it’s after a performance, and they’re tired and sweaty, and just want to go home.)

Taeyong reprimands him for disappearing so soon after the performance. Jungwoo tosses him a chilled bottle of water and says he looks somehow worse than usual. Donghyuck acts like nothing ever happened. 

(It’s not like he wants to explain himself, though. What’s the point anyway? It’s the same old shit. It always is and always will be.)

—

Cold sweat dampens Donghyuck’s temples. The sheets are clammy against his skin and cling when he peels them away. He sits up and brings his knees to his chest. He screws his eyes shut and tries to remember—something,  _ anything _ . 

His heart is pounding in his chest so hard that it feels like it’s rattling against his ribs. Often, he’ll wake up from a dream in a panic but not enough able to recall a single detail from it.

His childhood was like that too. There are chunks of time that he doesn’t remember anything from. Months and years that he isn’t sure if he even lived through, the only proof of his existence being in scattered photographs and fragmented memories.

There are other things, too.

The way the sound of a door opening is paralyzing and the smell of tobacco makes him feel slowly suffocated. How he always feels on edge, always running away. How he can never be alone. 

How he hates every single thing about himself.

It doesn’t mean anything, he tries to convince himself. But sometimes he wonders if something really bad happened to him. 

(Clear as day he remembers the sound of glass breaking, the sounds of his mother yelling at his father, the feeling of hands touching him in ways he didn’t understand, the sour pflavor of pain. But nothing makes sense. It doesn't piece together.  _ Why doesn’t it make sense?) _

He’s afraid to know, but he’s more afraid of not knowing.

Donghyuck retrieves his phone from the nightstand and unlocks it. He opens his messages to his mom and reads them again. 

He had asked her some vague questions about his childhood. Every single time the answer was  _ ‘I don’t know.’ _

He can’t tell what bothers him more: the fact that she might not care enough to remember or that she could be keeping something from him.

Pieces of what he does know come in flashes. He can’t think about it. He won’t think about it. Because then he’ll have to relive it. All he knows is of blood and fear, but none of it makes sense.

(Eyes burning.

Choking.

Crying.

Not love. Not love. Not love. Not love. 

What happened? Was it a dream? Was it even real?

_ Please stop. _

Used. Ruined. Deserved it.)

—

“You’re not close enough.” Donghyuck complains and yanks on the front of Mark’s sweater. They fall further backward into the storage closet they’re hiding in, knocking over a broom.

“Ouch.” Mark says when their foreheads smack together.

“Your fault.” Donghyuck smiles slyly.

“I’m the one with a broken ankle.” Mark complains. “Plus,  _ you _ were the one who pulled me.”

“Yeah right, your ankle sure looked broken when I saw you chase that fucking pigeon yesterday.” Donghyuck bites Mark’s lip in retaliation, however he does push Mark backward so he can sit on a closed trash can, just to be safe. Mark’s ankle is getting better, soon he won’t even need the boot.

Mark gets up and leans closer so his elbows rest on the cinder block wall beside Donghyuck’s head. He hovers above Donghyuck. Donghyuck likes this. It makes him feel small. It makes him feel safe.

“Didn’t you say that you’re still supposed to be staying off your feet?” Donghyuck nudges Mark’s boot pointedly. “Just because it’s a walking boot, that doesn’t mean you  _ should  _ walk in it.”

“Aren’t you supposed to be in practice right now and not making out in a custodial closet with your exceptionally attractive boyfriend?” 

“Touché.” Donghyuck rolls his eyes and tries not to smile. “As long as you’re good, I’m good, I guess.”

Mark doesn’t say anything, just presses their lips together and curls his hands against the nape of Donghyuck’s neck. It sends tiny jolts of electricity through Donghyuck’s body like a sexy version of heart palpitations. 

Mark ducks his head and mouths along Donghyuck’s clavicle bone. Donghyuck lets his head fall back and closes his eyes, yielding and pliant.

Mark shifts his weight to lean more on his good foot but then he’s losing his balance and gripping the side of Donghyuck’s neck—right above his jugular vein—for balance.

“Shit—sorry.” Mark says as he steadies himself but his hands stay on Donghyuck’s neck.

“Choke me.” Donghyuck rasps, something greedy and visceral possessing him. Though he doesn’t know why he wants it.  _ “Please.” _

Mark pulls away from him abruptly. “What?”

“Choke me.” Donghyuck pleads, grabbing Mark’s hand and placing it back on the column of his throat. He needs this. 

Mark blanches and takes a nervous step back, and that’s how Donghyuck knows he just fucked everything up again. He always does.

Mark’s hands are balled in fists at his side. He hesitates, but unfurls his hands and claps Donghyuck on the shoulder awkwardly, in a way that a father might congratulate his son for catching a rather impressive carp while fishing. Mark holds him at an arms length and Donghyuck tries not to feel like a monster. “Sorry, I’m just a bit blindsided. Why all of a sudden? Shouldn’t we talk about it? Plus, we’re in a fucking broom closet.”

“No, I need this. It’s fine. Just do it now. Please.” Donghyuck begs. It’s too late to go back. He committed to this, he can’t show uncertainty now. Hook, reek, and sinker.

“Hyuck.” 

_ “Please.”  _ Donghyuck repeats.

“I’m sorry, I’m really not into that. I don’t want to hurt you.” Mark frowns. “And I don’t know enough to do it safely.”

“I don’t want safe.” Donghyuck feels crazed as he fists Mark’s collar in his hands. “Hurt me. I need it, I need it,

I need it.”

“What the fuck? Violence doesn’t turn me on, Donghyuck and it concerns me that you want this in the first place” Mark says sharply. “I’d appreciate it if you’d respect that I’m not willing to fucking hurt you so you can get off.”

_ “Fuck.”  _ Donghyuck wheezes. “Shit, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to—I mean—I shouldn’t have pushed you.”

Mark sighs and stares at the ceiling pointedly. “It’s fine, let’s just get out of here. I’m tired of standing with this boot anyway.”

But it’s not fine. Donghyuck knows that it’s not fine. He does the only thing that makes sense to him in that moment and throws his head back against the wall as hard as he can. He feels woozy, he feels better. His vision blurs and he can almost ignore the expression of horror painted across Mark’s face.

“Stop that!” Mark screeches. “What the fuck are you doing!?” 

Donghyuck sobs when Mark forcibly wrenches him out of the closet. He feels his knees give out and sinks to the floor. He curls in on himself and tries to be as small as possible. He cries harder when he feels Mark gently sifting through his hair to check his head for damage.

“Baby, this isn’t like you. What’s going on?” Mark whispers against Donghyuck’s scalp between pressing featherlight kisses on the places that hit the wall the hardest.

“I can’t tell you.” Donghyuck shakes his head, swallowing around the words that fight to escape from his lips. Because Mark is wrong. This  _ is  _ like him.

He wants to forget. He wants to remember. He wants to hurt. He wants to stop hurting.

Nothing makes sense anymore and he just wants it to stop.

“It’s okay, it’s okay, baby.” Mark tells him. 

But Donghyuck knows that something between them has just been irreversibly altered. He has erased his last bit of innocence in Mark’s eyes, shattered the rosy illusion fabricated by young love. He is not sweet, or gentle, or deserving. He is manipulative and obnoxious. He is broken in every way and greedy. He takes and takes all that Mark can give.

And Mark must see that now.

Donghyuck wonders how much time they have left together.

—

“Take this.” Jisung shoves a small, warm cardboard box into Donghyuck’s hands. 

“Um. Thanks? But what is it?”

“A chocolate croissant.” Jisung says as if that explains everything. 

“Okay, but why? Is this a bribe or what? Do you want something from me?” Donghyuck tries to look as disinterested as possible. But then he worries that he doesn’t look interested enough. How do normal people react to random chocolate croissants?

“Kind of. I’m worried about you. Take it as a bribe to get better.” Jisung scratches his neck and leans awkwardly against the wall.

“You’re telling me that you’re trying to bribe away my eating disorder. With food.” Donghyuck deadpans.

“Well when you put it like that I just sound stupid, don’t I?” Jisung huffs, cracking a smile.

“You always sound stupid.” Donghyuck doesn’t miss a beat in replying.

“Shut up, you ungrateful asshole.” Jisung rolls his eyes before sobering. “That’s not the only reason why I got you that croissant. It’s also an apology, I guess?”

“For calling me an asshole?” Donghyuck quips.

“No. Are you going to let me speak or not?”

“Sorry. I’m listening, I promise.”

“You seem like you’re getting worse again. And I feel like I’m the only one who’s noticing. I know 127 is busy but  _ Christ  _ when I watched the stage yesterday you looked like you were about to keel over at any minute.” 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Donghyuck says even though it feels good to know that someone still cares enough to worry.

Jisung ignores him. “I’m getting off track, but it just reminded me that I haven’t always treated you the nicest. I think there were a lot of times that I overstepped boundaries and I’m sorry.” Jisung plays with the dainty chain dangling around his wrist.

“It’s okay. You were just joking.” Donghyuck shrugs. It’s not like some of the jokes didn’t hurt, but they only hurt because they were true, or at least he has convinced himself that they were.

“Maybe, but shit, Donghyuck.” Jisung runs a hand through his hair and tugs at the ends. “Can I tell you about something?”

Donghyuck nods wordlessly.

“I’m not telling you this to guilt you into forgiving me or manipulate you or justify my actions or anything. Because it doesn’t justify my actions.” Jisung sighs. “My father… he’s not a good man, to say the least.”

“I remember you said something like that a while back.” Donghyuck’s hands are sweaty against the cardboard box that holds the croissant, but he nods for Jisung to continue speaking.

“He was really cruel to me and my mom. It was so normalized to me that I didn’t even realize how toxic it was.” Jisung twists the silver ring on his finger. “What I’m trying to do here is apologize. I’m sorry for all the times I made you feel less than, for your appearance, or for anything, really.”

Something suffocating and shaped like fear rises in Donghyuck’s chest. “It’s fine. You were just joking. It was funny, I guess.” 

“Even if I was just joking, they weren’t jokes I should’ve been making.” Jisung swipes at his cheeks angrily. “I just felt so powerless growing up with him, so I tend to push further than I should with people that let me. You’re too good, y’know. And I’m mean sometimes. I’ve said some things to you—especially in our trainee days—that I really regret.”

“It’s fine.” Donghyuck tries to sound convincing. “It’s in the past now anyway, so who cares?”

“I do.” Jisung says fiercely.

“Why? Why, now?” 

“Because you’re not doing well. You’ve been struggling for a while.” Jisung whispers, even though they’re alone. “You’re getting worse again but everyone thinks you’re getting better.”

“You’re reading into things too much. I’m in the comeback. That should be proof enough that I’m getting by okay enough.” Though honestly, Donghyuck couldn’t care less if Jisung doesn’t believe him. 

“You’re losing weight again. I told you already. I saw the Music Bank performance and you looked  _ so  _ sick, Hyuck.” 

“Shut up.”

“What—“

_ “Shut up!”  _ Donghyuck screeches and feels heat rush to his cheeks. “So what? You care now that you think I’m gonna die or something!? So you won’t have the guilt hanging above your head? You care now that you see how much I’m hurting? You don’t  _ get _ to care about me, you don’t  _ get  _ to feel bad about this!”

“You’re right. I’m sorry.” Jisung hangs his head in shame. 

The flames retreat to the furnace, the hearth cools and he can breathe again. “I didn’t want to yell. I’m sorry. I hadn’t even realized I was mad.”

“No, I’m sorry.” Jisung repeats.

“I’m not going to argue with you about who is more sorry.” Donghyuck lets out a remorseful laugh. “Why a chocolate croissant of all things? Let’s talk about that.”

“It’s stupid.”

“I have time.” Donghyuck leans against the wall and slides to the floor. Jisung sits next to him.

“My mom would give me chocolate croissants when things got rough, it was just a thing she did for me. There’s no great story about it.” Jisung shrugs.

“What do you mean? Were you guys struggling financially or something?”

“No, not financially. Growing up, I remember my father being really controlling about stuff. It got kind of abusive sometimes and manipulative shit like that sticks with you.” 

Donghyuck frowns and places a hand on Jisung’s knee in solidarity.

Jisung takes a shuddering breath and continues speaking. “I got kinda pudgy around puberty but nothing crazy, all kids gain weight then. It’s just growing up. But he  _ stopped feeding me _ and would beat me for it. At the time I thought it was normal, and it’s taken years for me to understand that it wasn’t normal. That it wasn’t okay. That it’s not something that a loving parent would do.” 

Donghyuck’s tongue feels heavy in his mouth and his teeth feel too large for his jaw. There’s so much he wants to say but he doesn’t have the words to articulate any of it.

“It’s amazing I’m as tall as I am. That my growth wasn’t stunted from a lack of nutrients.” Jisung laughs wetly. It sounds more like a sob.

“I’m sorry.” Donghyuck whispers. Jisung smiles, but his eyes are sad. “Are they still together?”

“God, no. And my mom took him to the cleaners, got almost every cent he had to his name. He thought it would be more macho or some shit not to get a pre-nup, fucking idiot.” Jisung smirks despite the tears on his cheeks.

“It must’ve been hard, though, at the end.”

“Yeah. Honestly, I think I dissociated for that whole last year. I’m getting off topic though. I’m trying to apologize, make sure I’m better than that piece of shit.”

Donghyuck’s breath hitches, because he sees where this is going. “Jisung,  _ please.  _ I don’t want you thinking you’ve acted anything like him. You’ve only ever been a good friend to me.”

“I’ve said things that hurt you.” Jisung says with finality. “I’ve been there, I get what you’re going through, and I  _ still _ hurt you.”

Donghyuck’s heart stops. “You’ve been there?” Part of him is concerned for his friend, the fucked up part of him is angry that Jisung is trying to take this from him, as selfish as it sounds.

“It’s not a serious problem. I mean I still have bad days but it’s mostly in the past. But even now, sometimes it manifests in me being a toxic asshole. Probably because of my shitty father, but I can’t blame everything on him. My actions—at the end of the day—are mine.”

A beat of silence passes between them.

“We’re fucked up.” Donghyuck concludes, tearing off a piece of the croissant and passing it to Jisung. “I’m really sorry you had to go through that, though. I wish I had something better to say, but it just sucks and you didn’t deserve that.”

Jisung examines the bit of bread between his fingers before popping it into his mouth. “I know it doesn’t excuse my actions but I’m sorry if I made anything harder for you than it needed to be. I just wanted to give context to my mistakes. And my dad never apologized. I didn’t want to do that to you.”

“Thanks. For trusting me. It means a lot to hear that you didn’t call me fat just to call me fat, I guess. In a weird way it’s comforting to know that it was just a result of your upbringing.” Donghyuck sighs. “Sorry. I’m probably wording this wrong.”

“No, I completely get what you mean. And I’m sorry. I’m so fucking sorry.” Jisung says angrily, though Donghyuck knows he’s probably just mad at himself. “I wish I could take back every horrible thing I’ve said to you.”

“Thanks.” Donghyuck smiles even though it’s painful. He takes a bite of the croissant. It’s dark chocolate, bitter yet sweet. “I believe you.”

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I sat on this chapter for too long. I’m sorry for not posting sooner. Not a huge fan of how this came out, but I hope someone likes it :)
> 
> Also toxic twt sucks. Who woulda thought?? lmao 
> 
> Hope everyone is staying healthy and safe! <3


	9. Complementary Colors

Notes is the Wild West of iPhone apps. To-do lists that never get marked off? Check. Drunk musings of philosophical enlightenment? You betcha. Paragraph long angsty yet humorous texts about wanting to die? Yessir. 

Donghyuck has his phone brightness as low as it can go  _ and _ on dark mode but it’s still too bright. He types then deletes. Types then deletes. Types then deletes. Eventually, all that’s left of his poetic masterpiece of a cry for help is  _ ‘I’m fucking losing it.’ _

How eloquent.

Before he can chicken out, he copy-pastes it into his messages with Jaehyun. 

It’s three a.m. but Jaehyun lives on the tenth floor, which is essentially a frat house, except idol edition. ( _ Really,  _ the man doesn’t even have bedsheets). They’ve been known to go on beef jerky and red bull benders late into the night, so it’s no surprise that he responds almost immediately. 

  
  


**Jaehyun**

_ Omg u okay?? Do u want to talk about it?? _

  
  


**Donghyuck**

_ It’s nbd just kinda going thru it rn lol _

**Jaehyun**

_ We can go for a walk if you want :( _

**Donghyuck**

_ Please _

  
  


Donghyuck meets Jaehyun on the sidewalk and they’re silent for the first five minutes of their walk. A car, filled with people and music loud enough to hear from outside, passes them and Donghyuck wonders what it would be like to be one of them. Just to be someone else. Surely, they must be happier than he is.

“Thank you.” Donghyuck says, but his voice is quiet enough that the wind almost carries it away.

Despite the bags under his eyes, Jaehyun’s cheeks dimple when he replies. “Don’t mention it.”

They walk in silence for a few moments. The streets are never truly quiet in Seoul, so the sounds of the highway in the distance and the clubs a few blocks away fill the emptiness. It’s serene in a melancholic way.

“What’s bothering you, Hyuck?” Jaehyun asks finally.

_ Everything,  _ Donghyuck wants to say.

“I’ve been thinking a lot about things.” Donghyuck shrugs noncommittally.

“Bad things?” 

“I don’t know…”

“It’s okay if they’re bad.” Jaehyun says gently. Despite how SM tries to portray him as cold, suave, and princely, he’s really just a sweet boy at heart.

Donghyuck gnaws at his bottom lip. Words settle just behind his professionally whitened teeth. He wants to explain the  _ why,  _ the reasons he has for falling apart. Maybe if he says that it’s better when he’s starving, or better when he’s high on the numb afterglow that only a blade can bring. If Jaehyun understood that when he’s able to step outside of his own body, everything hurts less, he’d get it. When he’s hurting, the things that happen to him don’t even really happen to him. It’s a layer of protection: an oven mitt separating his bare hand from scorching hot steel.

He’s tired of missing it.

“I can  _ hear  _ you thinking.” Jaehyun slows his pace so he can face Donghyuck.

“I just…” Donghyuck averts his eyes and lowers his voice. “I’m slipping, Jaehyun.”

Jaehyun comes to a full stop. “Slipping?”

“Yeah.” Donghyuck breathes. “I’m not doing great.”

“Like,  _ a relapse.”  _ Jaehyun says. It’s not a question.

“Yeah, like a relapse.” Donghyuck regurgitates.

Suddenly Jaehyun, who is big and strong and  _ safe,  _ is crowding into Donghyuck’s square of sidewalk and enveloping him in warmth. 

“I’m sorry.” Donghyuck’s words vibrate into Jaehyun's chest.

“Don’t be. Let me be here for you, y’know?”

“I’m ruining the mood.” Donghyuck protests weakly.

“Bold of you to assume there was a mood to ruin.” Jaehyun squeezes him heartily.

“Can I say something scary?” Donghyuck whispers timidly.

“Knock yourself out.” Jaehyun pulls away from the hug but keeps his arm around Donghyuck reassuringly as they continue on their walk.

“I miss it. I haven’t been good lately. I know that I’m not taking good care of myself. I’m being reckless, vindictive, taking anyone down with me that I can sink my fucking claws into.” Donghyuck feels empty. He wants to be held, he wants to be cared for, he wants to Jaehyun to try to glue his pieces together only to see how irreparably broken he is. 

“Why?” Jaehyun asks nervously, as though he expects Donghyuck to jump in front of the eight-wheeler bumbling down the street.

“I wish I knew. I mean, I do—kinda.” Donghyuck scrubs his face with his hands, frustrated. “On the surface level. I just like to hurt. Hunger and blood. There’s this moment in my mind where I could feel each fiber of my skin separate. It was euphoric.”

Jaehyun looks at Donghyuck as though he’s grown a third head. And,  _ fair,  _ to enjoy any of this he’s next level messed up. But that’s the whole problem isn’t it? Once you take a blade to your skin, you never stop missing it. Once you see your ribs poke through your chest, you become addicted. It’s the cobwebs between boxes of buried thoughts and memories that Donghyuck just wants to forget.

“We can fix this.” Jaehyun says after a silence that stretches just long enough to be unnerving.

“How?” Donghyuck rasps, because he’s been trying for months. “I just keep failing.”

“We’ll just do it again and again until it fucking sticks.” Jaehyun’s eyes are wet and shimmer in the yellow glow of the streetlight. “Because you’re here telling me and that’s progress.”

Donghyuck sighs and leans back into Jaehyun’s chest. He closes his eyes because he’s tired and he’s safe. At last, he can rest. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. I just wish you’d stop forgetting how much you’re cared for.” Jaehyun says teasingly but Donghyuck knows he means it.

“Thank you, though.  _ Really.”  _ Donghyuck insists. 

Jaehyun just smiles and gestures for them to head back.

“Is there anything bothering you? I’m here for you too, y’know.” Donghyuck asks, because he’s greedy and weak, the least he can do is try to return the favor. He doesn’t want to always be the one  _ taking. _

“Nothing much… there is one thing though.” Jaehyun wrinkles his nose. “I borrowed socks from Yuta and  _ after  _ I wore them, he tells me that he had athletes foot in them. Disgusting, isn’t it?”

Donghyucl can’t help the surprised laugh that escapes his lips. It’s a hollow, tired sound, but it’s there.

“Um. Yeah?”  _ What the fuck.  _

“Exactly. It’s just common bro-etiquette to tell your bro if your socks are nasty. Like, come on, have some decency, man. To be fair, he did wash them first, and I haven’t caught athletes foot from it, but it’s still out of pocket for him to pull that shit.” Jaehyun huffs.

In that moment, Donghyuck realizes several things:

The tenth floor is a lawless land. (And gross.)

Jaehyun is the fucking best.

He might not be too broken for hope.

—

It’s easier, after that, to come clean. No one really seems surprised, and Donghyuck doesn’t know if he should feel insulted or not. But it’s also humiliating to be back at square one. 

Even though his friends smile and reassure him, he secretly wonders how much longer it will be until they’re sick of his bullshit. How could they not be when even Donghyuck is sick of himself. He’s annoying and needy and an attention whore. It makes part of him regret getting help, but the other part of him is determined for this to be the last time he needs it. 

Donghyuck knows nothing but extremes. All or nothing. Full or empty. Tearing at the seams or high on life. Gentle or dangerous.

He wonders if he’ll ever find a middle ground again.

—

It’s three a.m. when Doyoung finds him on the treadmill. Donghyuck wonders if 3 a.m. interventions are becoming a thing for him now. A happy hour for crises. Mental breakdowns and drinks on the house!

“Hey, Doyoung.” Donghyuck says as he wipes the sweat from his brow. 

“Donghyuck? What the fuck are you doing?” 

“What does it look like, dumbass? I’m walking.” Donghyuck wheezes and lowers the speed so he can actually speak.

“I mean, what the fuck are you doing here at ass-o’clock?” Doyoung’s eyes bug out when he sees the treadmill’s screen. “You’ve walked  _ fifteen  _ kilometers?!”

“Yeah. Walking is healthy you know.” 

“No it’s not. Get off.” Donghyuck orders.

“What? Dude, no.” Donghyuck needs to get to at least twenty. He’s not throwing up. This is fine. 

Abruptly, the treadmill stops and Donghyuck nearly smashes his face into the console. “What the hell?” He whips his head around to see Doyoung holding the plug in his hand.

“I’m not leaving until you come back to the dorm with me. I mean it.” Doyoung’s voice is low and serious.

“Why are you making this into such a big deal?” Donghyuck huffs, but gets off the treadmill. His knees buckle just a few steps into the hallway.

Doyoung catches him.  _ “This,  _ is why.”

Donghyuck rights himself even though his knees are wobbly. “I’m fine.” He insists.

“You’re eating something when we get upstairs.”

Donghyuck wants to say  _ no _ , to throw a tantrum and stomp his feet. Because he doesn’t want to undo all of his work. 

But he doesn’t. Because he’s tired and Doyoung is kind.

Instead, he nods sullenly and ignores how trapped he feels.

—

Donghyuck blinks and suddenly Halloween is staring him in the face. Dread roils in the pit of his stomach. SM is having their annual party, and normally he would look forward to it, but the disaster that the last one was still burns like a fresh wound. 

“It’s up to you if you want to go. The media will probably speculate if you don’t, but that’s nothing new.” His manager tells him the night before.

“Nah, it’s fine. I already have a kickass costume, anyway.” Donghyuck says even though he’s not sure that he means it.

“Alright.” And that is it.

Originally, Donghyuck wanted to go as The Joker, but then Mark told him that both Lucas  _ and  _ Chanyeol were going as that, so he decided that he absolutely, positively had to choose something else. Lucas and Chanyeol are taller, hotter, and more popular than he is, the last thing he wants to do is draw any comparison between him and them. He’s been through the Twitter-wringer before, he’s not looking to go back.

Jungwoo is going as Fiona, and somehow convinces Jaehyun to join him as Shrek for another couple-costume. Jungwoo tries to cajole Donghyuck into going as their child, but he shuts the idea down as soon as Jungwoo mentions the green paint.

Yuta drags him to a piercing shop a week before the Halloween party. Yuta says he’s  _ just looking,  _ but the last time he said that he came home with a belly piercing. 

“Hello. Can I help you?” A heavily tattooed woman greets them pleasantly.

“Thanks. Actually, I was wondering how long it takes for a tongue piercing to heal? Would it affect my singing?” Yuta asks her, but Donghyuck isn’t listening.

Instead, he finds himself drawn to a particular tattoo on the woman’s sleeve.

“Your tattoos are really cool.” He tells her on the way out of the shop as he and Yuta leave, surprisingly, without any new piercings.

“Thanks.” She smiles. “Which one caught your eye?”

His answer is immediate and without a hint of doubt. “The bird one.”

_ The bird one,  _ it turns out, is actually an archaic plague doctor. And just like that, his costume is decided. 

“You look terrifying.” Johnny tells him bluntly as they pose for photos at the event. 

“Yeah, I thought the stylists were gonna cry when they saw me in full plague doctor garb.” Donghyuck laughs. “But isn’t that the point of Halloween? To be scary?”

“Not at SM.” Johnny replies. He’s dressed as Mike Wazowski. When a Hulk-Jaemin waves at him from across the room, Donghyuck has to wonder if there was a memo about green people that he missed.

“True.” Donghyuck shrugs. Usually idols don’t try to incite fear at company parties. “But I look cool.”

“You do look cool.” Johnny smiles warmly. “Maybe you’ll win the costume contest. If you don’t, you’ll definitely scare the winner into relinquishing their title.”

Donghyuck pats his elongated snout appreciatively. “You know it.” He winks at Johnny then feels stupid. “I just winked at you.”

“Thanks.” Johnny says dryly. “What’s with this get-up, anyway?”

“I saw a plague doctor tattoo and thought it was cool. So, I decided to dress up as one. It’s not that deep.”

“That’s valid.” 

Donghyuck lurks silently in the shadows and saunters between tables crowded with idols. He basks in the mild terror and amazement that his mere presence creates. Tonight, he’s not Lee Donghyuck, he’s not Haechan, he’s a badass plague doctor and he fucking loves it.

“Is there a green conspiracy or something?” Donghyuck asks Chenle, who is dressed as Baby Yoda.

“Crap, you’re scary to look at” Chenle clasps a hand over his chest in mock-fear. 

“Thank you!” Donghyuck replies cheerfully. He reaches down to grab the ‘scalpel’ (which is actually a straw he’s been going around poking people with) from his pocket, but when he looks up Chenle has disappeared.

“Didn’t even answer my question.” Donghyuck mutters to himself, and decides that this just confirms it: there definitely is a green conspiracy.

After wandering across the dance floor, he spots his next target.

“You look a little green to me, perhaps I should take a closer look at your organs? Maybe bring out the leeches?” Donghyuck pulls out a handful of gummy worms from inside his cloak. 

“Donghyuck! You look great!” Jungwoo pulls Donghyuck into a hug, then fake-whispers. “I think Jaehyun is scared of you.”

“He should be.” Donghyuck grins behind his mask. “I’ll steal his spleen. He won’t even see it coming.” 

“What about stealing spleens?” Mark asks as he comes up behind him. He’s dressed as Russell from UP and it’s the cutest thing that Donghyuck has ever seen. They also make a crazy looking couple, but that’s besides the point.

Donghyuck slings an arm around Mark’s lithe waist and smirks. “Don’t ask questions or I’ll steal yours too.”

“This is kind of hot. I think you’re unlocking a kink I didn’t know I had.” Mark says.

“Not to be a voyeur but I’m totally down to see where this goes.” Jungwoo laughs as he winks salaciously. Donghyuck is only eighty percent sure that it’s a joke.

“Maybe another time. The night is still young and I have more people to terrorize.” 

“Jaehyun is probably still hiding from you, I should go find him. Have fun you guys!” Jungwoo waves and disappears into the pulsing crowd.

“Come on, I want to spook Wayv’s table. They’re hoarding all the good candy.” Mark grumbles and pulls Donghyuck by his hand. 

“Hell yeah.” Donghyuck chuckles.

Donghyuck doesn’t win the costume contest, but he doesn’t care because he knows his costume is cool as hell. 

He’s scrolling through Twitter, looking at all the hype his costume received. His bird mask hangs on the wall above his bed even though Johnny is mildly afraid of it. (After it showed up last night he has been incessantly begging Donghyuck to take it down.) But it’s his new good luck charm.

Donghyuck is replying to a fan that said they really loved his costume, when he notices the comment above it. 

_ Haechan should’ve gone as a plague victim. Postmortem. Are we really not going to talk about how he still looks fucking sick?? Even though he was hiding behind that ugly ass mask it’s obvious. It’s disgusting. _

It has an unnerving number of likes and retweets.

With shaking fingers Donghyuck finishes his reply to the  _ nice fan _ . Then he closes his eyes and takes a deep breath.  _ He’s not going to let this bother him,  _ he decides. 

_ Thanks for the input! xx  _ He types out and presses send before he can think about it for too long.

The lecture he gets from management is so worth it.

—

Donghyuck had learned long ago that the way to rock bottom is a gradient. The light disappearing slowly, incrementally until you’re surrounded by darkness.

The way back up is the same, he realizes.

It’s little things at first. Having breakfast, even if it’s just an apple. Overeating but not bingeing. Bingeing but not purging. Sometimes it feels like he’s taking ten steps back, but eventually it becomes a bit easier. He doesn’t think food will ever be simple, but it starts to taste a bit less like self-hatred.

In general, Donghyuck thinks he might hate himself a bit less. Though that might be because he’s still wrapping up a comeback and doesn’t have time to hate himself. But still, he decides it’s a win. 

Donghyuck has a breakdown in the fitting room at Gucci, because his old size is too small and everything in a larger size looks  _ awful  _ on him. SM has to  _ compensate _ (read: bribe) the employees to keep their mouths shut. But it’s okay. He survives.

Mirrors, it turns out, are still no-man’s land for him. Which is frustrating. But that’s okay, too.

Life is still harder than it should be, and he messes up time and time again, but even that is okay.

(Maybe it’s because his brain isn’t deprived of literally every vitamin and nutrient anymore, but he becomes cognizant of the fact that things are more okay than they used to be. Maybe they’ve always been okay and he just couldn’t see it before.)

He throws out all his old clothes that he knows he shouldn’t want to fit in again. (Because it’s sickening to see the jeans he used to wear, to know that he was once that small, but also to know that he’s too fat to fit in them now. After his third attempt in throwing them out that ends in a breakdown, Taeyong marches into Donghyuck’s room armed with a black trash bag and takes it upon himself to rampage through the closet and drawers until all that remains is a few sweatshirts and some socks.)

Donghyuck also gets new bedding and even a potted plant (which Mark insists on naming Gertrude), just to spruce things up a bit. 

He feels cleansed. 

—

“I’ll be right back, guys. Just gonna pee.” Donghyuck places his napkin on the table and stands up from his chair. The restaurant is nice, much fancier than he has been to in a while. The tablecloths are spotless white linen, the chandeliers are ornate and sparkling, but what truly shows the class of the restaurant is how there are five forks at each seat. They figured to celebrate the end of a successful comeback, they should go big.

“I have to pee, too.” Mark says in a monotone voice that sounds nearly robotic and completely unconvincing.

“Seriously?” Donghyuck rolls his eyes. “I know I don’t have the best track record, but you have to start trusting me again at some point. You really think I’m going to throw up a steak that costs more than my shoes? I’m not an  _ idiot.” _

“What’s the problem? Even if I don’t have to pee, what’s wrong with me coming with you?” Mark stands up defiantly. “Girls do it all the time.”

“Yeah, bros can pee together too.” Johnny snickers.

“If you don’t shut—“

“Is everything alright here, sir?” A waiter appears from behind a leafy potted plant.

“Yes, everything’s fine.” Donghyuck smiles tersely. “I was just wondering where the restroom is.”

“Of course. Follow me, please.” 

Donghyuck nods and tries to lose Mark between tables and pillars. It doesn’t work.

For as lavish and opulent the restaurant is, its bathroom is small and single-serving. It’s just what the doctor ordered.

“Bye, bitch.” Donghyuck laughs evilly and slams the door in Mark’s face.

_ “Asshole.”  _ He hears Mark call back, though it is muffled by the heavy door.

Donghyuck sighs. He kinda is an ass.

Mark is leaning against the wall casually when Donghyuck leaves the bathroom. They eyeball each other for a few seconds but then Donghyuck clucks, reaches over and straightens Mark's tie.

“Always so put together,  _ mister GQ.”  _ Donghyuck teases.

“At least  _ I’m _ not the one wearing a bow tie.” Mark smirks.

“At least I didn’t have to ask Taeyong to do my tie for me.” Donghyuck takes great satisfaction in how it wipes the smug look off Mark’s face. 

“Touché.” Mark rolls his eyes. “Come on, let’s head back to the table.”

“Alright.” Donghyuck replies but neither of them move.

“I’m sorry for not trusting you more.” Mark blurts out sincerely.

“No, it’s fine. I get it. I haven’t really given you guys a reason to trust me.” Donghyuck admits sheepishly. “Sorry for kinda being a dick.”

_ “Kinda?”  _ Mark raises and eyebrow teasingly.

“Don’t push it.” Donghyuck then dramatically flips his rather short hair. “I was born perfect.”

Donghyuck expects Mark to flick him on the forehead or something, but instead there’s something soft and proud in his eyes. “Yeah. Maybe you were.” Mark smiles tenderly.

Donghyuck knows there’s a good chance he’ll either start crying or fuck Mark right in this bathroom if he lets them stay in this moment for too long, so he clears his throat and pulls Mark by his elbow. “Come on, they’re going to order dessert. I don’t want to end up with something shoddy when Jungwoo inevitably orders us something gross.”

Mark laughs, light and breathy, and knocks their shoulders together. He whispers something that sounds like  _ ‘proud of you’  _ but might be  _ ‘missed you.’  _ Maybe both.

Donghyuck returns to the table with a smile, orders a white peach creme brûlée, and decides he agrees with Mark.

—

“Mark and I are dating.” Donghyuck says as Iron Man is literally dying on the screen and immediately slaps his hand over his mouth. Because,  _ crap. _

“Couldn’t you have waited until  _ after  _ the movie? You literally chose the worst scene in Marvel history for this.” Mark groans, but he isn’t mad. They had agreed to tell the others tonight but Mark was hoping that they’d get through the movie at least.

No one says anything.

“Um, guys?” Donghyuck asks and tries not to spiral, because maybe everyone is actually homophobic and they all hate him now.

Yuta sighs and pauses the movie. “What? You want us to act surprised? Hate to break it to you but we already knew.” 

“He told me first.” Jungwoo brags.

“You guys all knew?” Mark gapes.

“I had a feeling it would happen from the days you were on that Mickey Mouse show. It was just a matter of time until it became a thing.” Taeyong shrugs. “Plus, you two are the most obvious fools ever. It wasn’t hard to figure it out.”

“Yeah, what the fuck was it that Thanos said?  _ I am inevitable? _ That’s you guys.” Johnny interjects sagely.

“Why are you literally a case study?” Taeil laughs.

“Says you.” Taeyong snorts fondly.

_ “Wow,  _ I’m so glad that our oldest members are  _ so  _ mature.” Doyoung rolls his eyes.

“So, like, you guys are all fine with this?” Donghyuck gestured between him and Mark.

“As long as your relationship is happy and healthy, of course.” Jaehyun smiles warmly.

“Okay, great, we’ve established that we all love you guys.” Jungwoo says hurriedly. “Now that it’s all settled, I want to see Iron Man die, so everyone be quiet.”

“Why don’t the beginnings of your sentences ever match the ends?” Yuta mutters.

A beat of silence passes over the group as Peter Parker sobs while life slowly leaves Tony Stark’s eyes. It’s hard to tell from where Donghyuck is sitting, but Jungwoo seems to be… smiling? 

When Pepper Potts shuts off the arc reactor on the suit, Jungwoo is grinning somewhat sadistically. “Death scenes are my favorite.”

_ “What the fuck. _ I share a room with  _ that.”  _ Jaehyun hisses in Donghyuck’s ear. 

Finally, Mark whispers brokenly, “Why are you so weird, Jungwoo?”

Donghyuck laughs so hard that he almost dislodges his esophagus.

At last, he’s home. 

—

Even though it seems the previous comeback has just ended, they’re already preparing for a new one. SM never lets their idols rest for too long, after all. At least this time they’re promoting as nine.

“It’s good to have you back.” Taeyong claps Mark on the shoulder. “But I’ll kill you, if you get hurt again.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it.” Mark cracks a smile.

“Donghyuck, it’s good to have you back, too.” 

“What’re you talking about? I was in the last comeback.” Donghyuck stiffens.

“Hardly.” Taeyong scoffs. 

“Yeah.” Donghyuck admits begrudgingly, because it’s the truth. Besides the fact that he didn’t even perform his own lines last comeback, he was barely surviving. 

“I think you guys will like this concept.” Taeyong says breezily.

—

Donghyuck does, in fact, like the concept. He’d go as far to say that it’s his all-time favorite.

It’s one that’s in stark contrast to 127’s usual hyper-masculine, hip-hop oriented concepts. The choreography has elements of modern dance and ballet. The stage outfits are elegant and androgynous, with white silk, pearls, and even feathers. 

But what Donghyuck loves the most is the makeup. It’s shimmery yet smokey. Highlighter glows on his cheekbones and his lips are subtly glossy. He feels pretty. He hasn’t felt this way in a while.

It seems fitting, that the concept is rebirth.

“This comeback is making you a narcissist.” Mark teases. They’re both bone tired at the end of a full day of filming for the MV. “I like it. It’s hot.”

“I just feel pretty.” Donghyuck shrugs demurely.

“Probably because you are.” Mark winks.

“Break’s over in five, quit the flirting.” Johnny flicks both of them on the back of the head. 

“Hey, there’s  _ a lot _ you can do in five minutes.” Mark says suggestively. 

“Gross.” Johnny fake gags. “Come on. The director said that we’re gonna lay in a bed of daisies or some shit and then we can wrap up for the day.”

Donghyuck laces his and Mark’s hands together and they crush a few hundred plastic flowers with their asses. 

Mark laughs, freely and uninhibitedly. And even if it’s just for that moment, everything is okay. Donghyuck thinks maybe it will stay that way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter kind of wrote itself which is really nice when you crank out 4k-5k chapters haha. I’m playing with more humor in my writing, which is a bit challenging since most of what I write is heart wrenching angst. 
> 
> Also the tenth floor is gross, I love them but seeing the chaos that goes on there reminds me that they are Men. Disgusting.


End file.
